No. xoyii.' 

MbpERN STANDARD DRAMA. 
EDITED BY F; G. WEMYSS. 

ft 

THE 

SOLDIER'S DAUGHTER. 

IN FIVE ACTS. 



WITH THE STAGE BUSINESS, CAST OP CHARACTERS, 
COSTUMES, RELATIVE POSITIONS, ETC. 



BY A. CIIEREY. 



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WM. TAYLOR & CO., 16 Park Flaw. 

BALTIMOBE, MD.,: 
WM. & HENRY TAYLOR, Sun Irpn Buildings. 



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IN PREPARATION, 

A 

CHRONOLOGICAL HISTORY 

OP THE 

AMERICAN STAGE, 

Carefully compiled from the m,ost authentic 
sources, 

In which will be contained the name 
EVERY ACTOR OR ACTRESS WHO HAS EVER AP- 
PEARED UPON THE STAGE 

In the United States of America, the Part chosen for their Deb6t, 
and the Theatre at which they first appeared ; the Place of their 
Birtbj and the Place of their Death ; with much other valuable 
information, wherever it can be ascertained, intended to form 

A PERFECT CENSUS 

OP 

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To make this work as correct and complete as possible, th« 
Publishers request such information as may aid them in their la- 
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March 22d, 1852. 151 Nassau-st., N. Y. 



No. XCYII. 

MODERN STANDARD DRAMA. 

EDITED BY F. G. WEMYSS. 



THE 

SOLDIER'S DAUGHTER. 

^ Corners* 

INFIVEACTS. 



WITH THE STAGE BUSINESS, CAST OP CHARACTERS, 
COSTUMES RELATIVE POSITIONS, ETC. 



BY A. CHEEEY. 



NEW- YORK: 
WM. TAYLOE & CO., 16 Park-Place. 

BALTIMORE, MD.,: 
WM. & HENRY TAYLOR, Sua Iron Buildings. 



REMARKS 



Andrew Cherry, the Author of the " Soldier's Daughter," was 
an Actor of repute upon the London Stage, and from the practical 
knowledge of the clap-traps of his profession, availed himself of 
a time to produce this play, when England was in a perfect blaze of 
patriotism ; when every man was a volunteer, and every boy a sol- 
dier, anxious to defend his native land from the threatened invasion 
of Buonaparte. At such a time, with such a theme upon every 
tongue, not to have applauded patriotic speeches, uttered by a young 
and handsome woman, would have been worse than treason ; the 
Author, therefore, risked no failure, for he had carried his audience 
by a " coup-de-main." 

No Play has been more roughly handled by Critics, or more 
warmly applauded by the audience assembled to witness its repre- 
sentation ; and, although the characters belong to a past age. 
Governor Heartall, Widow Cheerly, and Timothy Quaint, will 
always keep it among the catalogue of Acting Plays. The dashuig 
style of the laughing young widow, making her a favorite part, with 
Actresses of eminence, to select, for their debut, before a strange 
audience ; and improbable as the incidents may be, they never fail 
to meet the approbation of the audience, who, having enjoyed a 
hearty laugh, are not so captious when leaving the theatre, as to find 
fault with the author of their amusement. 

F. C. W. 



r 



PROLOGUE. 

(by the author of the comedy.) 
Spoken by Mr. Pope. 

The wretch condemn 'd, who pines in silent sorroWj 
And feai's the dawn of the all-dreadful morrow, 
"When, from this earth his soul must take her flight, 
The realms to seek of all-eternal night : — 
As he the awful scaffold slowly climbs, 
And dreads the vengeance that attends his crimes. — 
Hope, like a smiling cherub, opes her gate, 
And points out Mercy on her throne of state ! 
Justice, obedient to the white-rob'd maid, 
Sheathes her drawn sword — and grants her willing aid. 
So the scar'd author of our play, to-night. 
Dreads — ev'n these lamps, that bring his crimes to light. 
Tho' chilling dew-drops mark the culprit's fea,r, 
He knows your justice — if his cause you hear ; 
But should his guilt excite the critic fury, 
His hope is — Mercy ; from an Enghsh jury ! 
A home-spun fabric he presents to view ; 
Devis'd, constructed, and prepar'd, for you. — 
From Nature drawn, and fed with Nature's food ; 
His men and women — merely flesh and blood. 
Thro' his rude scenes Benevolence holds place, 
To chase the tear from ofl" pale Sorrow's face ; 
Cheer the sad Husband and the faithful Wife, 
And fain would smooth the rugged road of life. 
A youthful Merchant ventures on this shore, 
(Where many a Merchant has been seen before :) 
Ye sons of Commerce, grant your pow'rful aid^ 
And give your voices — in support of trade. 
He adds thereto, to fill his varied scene, 
A sprightly fair-one of no vulgar mien, 
From Nature's School, with Virtue's precepts taught her, 
A Yeoman's Widow, and a Soldier's Daughter ! 



VI PROLOGUE. 

All English growth ! from garden, forest, field — 
Some perfum'd flowers, while some a poison yield : 
"Who from his native land all ill can root ? 
Ev'n Eden's Garden nurs'd forbidden fruit. 
Our Author, therefore, if his schemes you scan, 
But shews the danger, to preserve the man. 

If in these home-made scenes, he bade me say, 
You aught can find to send you pleas'd away ; 
If woe domestic can its griefs impart. 
Or sportive pleasure animate the heart ; 
At both he aims — and should his schemes succeed, 
Your gen'rous plaudits make him blest indeed ! 
If with your smiles you greet his first endeavour, 
You bind him yours, — for ever and for ever 1 



COSTUME. 

GOVERNOR HEARTALL.— Grey cloth regimental coat, white waist- 
coat and breeches. — Second Dress : Great coat and cocked hat. 

FRANK HEARTALL.— Modern suit. 

MALFORT, SEN.— Old gentleman's black velvet suit. Camlet fly 
and cocked hat. 

MALFORT, JUN.— Modem suit. 

FERRET.— Crimson coat and waistcoat, black velvet breeches, hat 
trimmed up behind. 

TIMOTHY QUAINT.— Old fashioned brown coat, white cloth waist- 
coat, brown breeches, small cocked hat. 

SIMON.— Drab suit, hat, &c. 

THE WIDOW CHEERLY.— Pink satin dress, trimmed with blond 
lace. 

MRS. MALFORT. — White muslin dress, trimmed with cotton fringe. 

MRS. FIDGET. — Brown silk gown, blue quilted petticoat, white 
apron. 

JULIA.— White frock. 

SUSAN.— Coloured cotton gown. 

MRS. TOWNLY.— Brown muslin dress. 



TIME OF REPRESENTATION. 

The time this piece takes in representation is two hours and fifty- 
seven minutes. The first act occupies the space of thirty minutes ; 
the second, forty ; the third, thirty-five ; the fourth, thirty-seven ; 
the fifth, thirty-five. 



CAST OF CHARACTERS. 



Drury Lane, 
London. 

Governor Heartall - - - Mr. Dowton 

Frank Heartall - - - - Mr. Elliston 

Malfort, Sen. Mr. Powell 

MaJfort, Jitn. Mr. Wallack 

Captain Woodley - - - Mr. S. Penley 

Ferret ...... Mr. Gattie 

Thnothy Quaint - - - - Mr. Penley 

Simon ------- Mr. Maddocks 

William ------ Mr. Ebsworth 

George ------- Mr. Evans 

T\>m ------- Mr. Minton 

James ------- Mr. Buxton 

Widovj CheerUy . - - - Mrs. Mardyn 

Mrs. Malfort - - - - Miss Boyce 

Julia ....... Miss C. Carr 

Mrs. Fidget Mrs. Sparks 

Susan ------- Mrs. Scott 

Mrs. Townley . e - - Mrs. Maddocks 



Chesnut Street TTveatre, 
Philadelphia, Pa. 

Mr. Warren 

Mr. Wemyss 

Mr. Wheatley 

Mr. Wood 

Mr. H. WaUack 

Mr. Hathwell 

Mr. Jefferson 

Mr. Francis 

Mr. BignaU 

Mr. Murray 
Mr. Mestaye 

Mrs. Darley 
Mrs. Anderson 
Miss H. Hathwell 
Mrs. Francis 
Mrs. Murray 
Mrs. Simpson 



RELATIVE POSITIONS. 

R. means Right; L. Left ; R. D. Right Door ; L. D. Left Door ; 
S. E. Second Entrance ; U. E. Upper Entrance ; M. D. Middle Door; 
P. the Flat ; D. F. Door in Flai, 



THE 



SOLDIER'S DAUGHTER. 



*' ACT I. 

" SCENE I. — An Antichamber in the House of Malfdrt, 

senior. 

(" A very loud si?igle knock at the outside door, l.h.) 

" Enter "William, m.d,, and Simon, r.h., meeting. 

" 8im. "Well, William — what — what's the matter now ? 

" Will. Not much, master Simon ; only Mr. Ferret's 
" porter, to let you know that hia master intends to call as 
" he retui'ns from 'Change. 

" Sim. Aye ; like foul weather, he generally comes un- 
" sent for. Shall I tell you a secret, William ? I hate 
" that man ! I detest your sly, slow, hesitating friend- 
" ships; plain honesty flows freely from the heart to the 
" lips, and honor gives it utterance. (J. loud knock at the 
" outer door.) Heyday ! Mr. Ferret's porter again, I sup- 
" pose ! 

" Will. {Looking off., m.d.) No ; it is Mr. Ferret himself. 



10 THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 

" Sim. Is it ? — then begone, "William ; get about your 
" business — have an eye to the'door — look to the plate — 
" let nothing be stolen, nothing be wasted. 

" Will. I am gone, old Careful. \^Exit William^ m.d. 

" Si??i. Old Careful ! 'Gad a'mercy, young Prateapace 1 

" Fer. ( Wit/mi, m.d,) What, in this room, is he ? — Oh 1 
" very well. 

" Enter Ferret, m.d. 

" Fer. Hah, old Adage, are you there ? 

" Sim. Yes, sir, I am here : — an old adage is better than 
" a new face. 

" Fer. A new face ? 

" Si7?i. Yes, sir : some folks have a collection, and can 
" wear the kind of countenance that best answers their 
" purpose. 

" Fer. 'Well said, old boy ! — ha, ha, ha ! Well ; have 
" you had any news from India, from my old friend, your 
"master ? 

" Sim. No : — hav'nt you ? 'Tis whispered that you 
" have. Paper speaks when beards never wag. 

-" Fer. I am his factor here ; and, from his clerks, I 
" sometimes have a hint of his domestic concerns. But 
" should he suddenly surprise us by his appearance, all 
" things, I trust, are right, Simon — you understand me ? 

" Sim. No — speak out ; I am old, and dull of appre- 
" hension. 

" Fer. A hint should be enough, friend Simon: you 
" know I am a plain, simple, straight-forward fellow — apt 
" to talk too much, perhaps. 

" Sim. {Slily.) Or not enough, perhaps. 

" Fer. You know, master Simon, I can't flourish upon 
" a subject ; but I do most heartily wish to make my 
" worthy friend, my benefactor, too, your honor'd master 
" — ( Talcing Simoti^s hand, ivith the affectation of great 
"■ kinchiess.) I say, I could wish to set his heart at rest 
" upon a subject that absorbs all other thouglits, and ren- 
" ders even his large possessions, his lands, his ingots, and 
" accumulating wealth, mere unregarded dross. 

" Sim. Ay, I understand you, noiv — our lost young 
" master. It is a subject I never cared to touch upon — 



THE SOLDIER S DAUGHTER. 1 1 

" he can't bear it. After our good lady's death, and my 
" old master went to take possession in the East, our 
" 3'oung gentleman was left behind, to adjust some family 
" affairs, and then to follow — but no — oh dear, no — the 
f" hungry ocean will gape, and we fear our dear young 
" master long since has been its prey. 

" Fer. I may be wrong. I am naturally anxious, you 
" know. 'Tis true, your master, should he survive, most 
" likely will expect from me, on his return, some satisfac- 
" tion on this subject ; but is it the office of a man to make 
" his patron miserable ? — no. His letters have been filled 
" with strong expressions of parental solicitude. 

" Sivi. {Catching hini tip.) What — he has written 
" then. 

" Fer. N — yes — ^yes — ^yes — on his first going abroad, I 
'■'■ certainly had letters — 

'■• Sim. Which you have answered like a consoling com- 
" forter. 

'• Fei: No. 

" Sim. I thought so. {Aside.) 

'■'■Fer. I have replied to them with caution. Poor Henry! 
" poor fellow ! He has had many strange tossings and 
" tumblings. I have had my emissaries at work, who have 
' still kept an attentive eye upon his conduct ; but his 
" progress was velocity itself Immediately after the de- 
" parture of his father, he became what we call quite a 
'■'■jolly clog : while his cash lasted, he kept his horses, his 
" hounds, his curricle — flashed at the court, drove through 
" the city, got connected with the family of old Discount, 
" the banker — 

" Si7n. That was prudent, however. A worthy man ! 
" Honesty and honor are a noble firm ; — 'Tis a partnership 
" that misfortune aloue can dissolve. 

" Fer. His son (a young profligate) and the younger 
" Malfort became inseparable friends. His daughter, — 
" what we call in the city, a dasher, — she forsooth, caught 
" your young master's fancy — ^in fine, he married her. 

" Sim. Heaven bless them. 

" Fer. A union, he well knew, that could never meet 
" his father's wishes ; he has therefore carefully concealed 
" it from his knowledge. Then, business was the cry — 
" young Discount and Malfort entered jointly therein — 



12 THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 

" one foolish speculation followed up another — your young 
" master was drained — his own possessions sunk — ^his wife's 
*' fortune demolished — her father, heart-broken, died — 
" his son, torn with shame and disappointment, fled, the 
" Lord knows whither ; whilst poor Malfort remained, a 
" ruin'd bankrupt, and his wife — 

" Sim. What ? speak ! 

" Fer. Why, perhaps, the most helpless of heaven's 
" afflicted creatures — a beggar'd fine lady. 

" Sim. Poor pretty creature ! — where are they now ? 

" Fer. All my inquiries from this last stage of their 
" situation have been fruitless — entirely fruitless — believe 
" me, Simon. {As if he knew more but ivould not utter it.) 
" Good day, friend Simon ! I am naturally anxious ; but 
*' 'tis not my way to create uneasiness in the bosoms of 
" my friends ! Simon, if my purse was large enough, they 
" might all put their hands into it. {Shaking Simon by 
" the hand tvith great seeming affection.') Good day ! 

\F,xit Ferret, m.d. 

" Sim. Ah ! I doubt it much : your purse is like your 
" heart — deep, but close. Oh, my poor young master ! 
" Well — he was a generous youth : when but a mere boy, 
" how I have seen him bestow his favors on the wretched; 
" and stand, with moistened eye, to view poor naked child- 
" ren feed upon his bounty ! and now, perhaps, he himself 
■" needs a benefactor, and pines in secret misery ! My old 
" heart cannot bear the thought. Well, there are many 
" turnings in the road of life, and I perhaps, at length, may 
" find the path that leads to comfort ; for I would gladly 
" share even my last hard morsel with my master's son. 

{Exit Si77ion, r.h. 



" SCENE II. — An Apartment in Governor HeartaWs 
House. 

" Enter Mrs. Fidget and Timothy Quaint, r.h. 

*' Mrs. F. 'Tis no such a thing, Mr. Timothy ; give mo 
^' leave to know the private concerns of a family that I 
" have lived with before you were born. 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 13 

" Tim. If that's the case they have no private concerns 
" by this time : they are pretty pubhc now. 

" Mrs. F. Jackanapes ! Does it follow, because I indulge 
" you with my communications, that all the world are to 
" be instructed by me ? 

" Tim. No ; it does'nt follow, it generally goes before : 
" you retail your knowledge every week-day in small para- 
" graphs, and on Sunday, you rush forth yourself, fresh 
" from the press — a walking journal of weekly communi- 
" cation ! 

" Mrs. F. "Well, — am I not right there, mongrel ? It 
" is the moral duty of a Christian to instruct the ignorant, 
" and open the minds of the uninformed. 

" Tim. Yes ; but you are not content with opening 
" their minds, you open their mouths too, and set them a 
" prating for a week to come. 

•' Mrs. F. It requires but little pains, however, to set 
" you a prating. Such a tongue ! — mercy on me ! Gibble, 
" gabble, prittie, prattle, for ever and for ever! 

" Tim. Lord a mercy ! there's a plumper ! When I 
" came to live in this house, I never opened my Hps for 
" the first quarter : — the thing was impossible ; your eternal 
" clatter almost starved, as well as dumb-foundered me ; I 
" could put nothing in or out of my mouth ; I v,'as com- 
" pelled to eat my victuals at midnight ; for, till you were 
" as fast as a church, I was forced to be as silent as a 
" tomb-stone. 

" Mrs. F. Why, sirrah ! — jackanapes ! — monkey ! His 
" honor has suffered your impertinent freedoms, 'till you 
" are become quite master of the house ; and now, I sup- 
" pose, you want to be mistress too. 

" Tim. So do you ; therefore we quarrel. Two of a 
" trade, you know, — 

" Mrs. F. But your master shall know of your tricks, 
" your fancies, and your insolences. 

" Tim. Let him ; he like's it. He says himself I am an 
" odd-fish — a thorn-back, I suppose, or I shouldn't be able 
" to deal with an old-maid. 

" Mrs. F. Old-maid ! — slander ! — impudence ! — puppy ! 
" Have I liv'd to this time of day to be call'd old-maid at 
" last '? I never, till now, seriously wish'd to be married. 
" Had I a husband — 



14 THE soldier's DAUOHTER. 

" Tim. If you had, he'd be the most envied mortal in 
" England. 

" Mrs. F. Why, fellow ?— why ? 

" Tim. Because thei'e's not such another woman in the 
" kingdom. ' {Bell rings, r.h.) 

" Mrs. F. Don't j^ou hear the bell, puppy ? 

" Tim. No ; your clapper drowns it. 

" Mrs. F. My clapper ? ( Violent/?/.) 

" Tm. Yes, your clapper. {Calmly.) 

" Fmter Simon, l.h. 

" Sim. Lord ! what's to do here ? Why here's a 
" battle ro^^alj between the young bantam and the old 
" hen. 

" Tim. {Perccivijig Simon.) Ah ! master Simon — how 
" do you do ? 

" Sim. Honest Timothy ! give me your hand. AVhcre 
" is the Governor ? I have something of importance to 
" impart. Can I see him to communicate ? 

" Tim. Aye, to be sure. Step with nie, master Simon, 
" and I'll introduce you to the Governor directly ; I 
"" haven't seen him this morning, therefore cannot tell you 
" what sort of a humour he's in ; he lay down in a frenzy, 
" last night, boihng with rage against his nephew. Mr. 
" Eerret was here, and he always leaves the old gentleman 
" in a stew. 

" Sim. What !— Old Blow-coal, as I cah him ? If a 
" dormant spark of animosity exists, his breath is sure to 
" make it blaze. 

" Tim. Come, then, master Simon, let me show you to 
" the Governor, and see if we cannot contrive to blow tip 
" this son of sulphur. [Exit Timotky, r.ii. 

•' Sim. Have with you, my boy. {Going.) 
■ " Mrs. F. ]\[r. Simon, I shall expect you in my room, 
" when 3^our business is over, to taste my cordial, and 
" drink a safe return to your worthy master. 

" Sim. That I will with all my heart : yet, let mc tell 
" you, Mrs. Fidget, there is no cordial like a gentle tem- 
" per— nor any beverage half so delicious as when it is 
" sweetened by the hps of good humour. 

[She curtesies — tJtcy exeunt — Sim. r.h., Mrs. F. l.h. 



THE SOLDIER S DAUGHTER. 15 

SCENE III. — A plain Chamber. Mrs. Malfort 
discovered. 

Mrs. M. How mournfully passes each sad hour, with 
those on whom misfortune's burden rests ! Distress — 
accumulating distress — even the poignant dread of want ; 
a husband sinking beneath a load of worldly care, and a 
poor prattling innocent unconscious of her state, are now 
my sole possessions. A brother, banished by his own im- 
prudence ! and my husband's father removed to clinies far, 
far beyond inquiry, and ignorant of his son's desponding 
state — or, knowing it, perhaps, by evil tongues, or mon- 
strous suggestions hardened to his sufferings. What then 
remains for me ? Despair ? — no ; that power w4iose jus- 
tice shields the weak and mourning sufferer, will shew its 
mercy also where fortune frowns — not guilt, nor pompous 
splendid vanity, have caused the sad reverse. Sweet 
patience be my comfort then — for I will not despair. 

{Seats herself at the table.) 

Frank Heartall. ( Within., l. h.) Say you so, my little 
cherub ? | Will you be my convoy ? With such a pilot I 
cannot fail to make my port secure. 

Enter Julia and Frank Heartall, l. h. 

J%dia. Mamma ! here's a gentleman, who says he wants 
to speak to you. {Mrs. M.jtcst looks up., and then resumes 
her situation.) 

Frank H. A charming woman ! but certainly, not the 
person I last night traced to this house in her carriage from 
the opera. 

Julia. {Pulling him by the coat.) Sir, this is .my mam- 
ma ; you said you had something very particular to say to 
her. 

Frank H. Ye — ye — yes, my dear, very particular to a 
lady, as I thought in this house, l)ut not to her. 

Julia. Why, is not mamma a lady ? 

Frank H. Certainly, yes, my dear ; but — What can I 
think of all this ? she seems absorbed in grief : poor girl ! 
perhaps the neglected victim of some wealthy profligate, 
and this little prattler the offspring of her dishonor ; left 
ungratefully to perish, while her seducer wantonly drives 



16 THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 

his curricle through the pubhc streets, and unblushingly 
smiles upon each passing female. By heaven ! had I my 
will, such wretches should wear an indelible stamp of in- 
famy, that all good men might shun them, and women 
learn to abhor the traitors to their sex. 

Mrs. M. {Coming forivard.) Sir, your business, if you 
please. 

Frank H. My business, madam, is — A delicate creature, 
by my soul ! {Aside.) Why really, madam, I — I — I cannot 
exactly tell you what my business is. I am here, led by 
a cherub into the presence of an angel ! I dare not rudely 
ask the cause of your affliction, but your appearance in- 
terests me, and I should feel the warmest gratification in 
alleviating your sorrows. 

Mrs. M. Sir, there is a frankness in your manner, which 
assures me of your sincerity : but my uneasiness springs 
from a source of a domestic nature, in which the interfer 
ence of a stranger cannot be effectual. I thank you, sir, 
and beg you will retire. 

Fraiih H. Instantly, madam, at your command. ( Going., 
returns.) I am an odd, volatile, unthinking fellow ; always 
involved in some cursed scrape or other ; but I would not 
willingly bring a blush upon the cheek of modesty ; pray, 
pardon me, madam, but I fear that you have been betrayed, 
— yourself and little one abandoned to the world, unfriended 
and unknown. 

Mrs. M. {In great affiiction.) 0, heavens! {Turns up 
the stage, and sits do-wfi.) 

Julia. {Going to her.) Mamma, dear mammal 

Frank H. {Observing her.) — Yes, — my old luck ' — I 
have done mischief : I have touched the string ; her sensi- 
bility revolts at the awakened recollection of her situation, 
and she feels all the pangs of insulted innocence. 

Mrs. M. {During HeartalVs speech airpears to ask ques- 
tions of the child, then coming forivard,) Sir, I now clearly 
perceive your mistake ; you had conceived my child was 
instructed to bring you hither. 

Frank H. Really madam, I — 

Mrs. M. 'Tis a venial error, sir ; but you have equally 
mistaken my circumstances and situation. Nursed in the 
lap of affluence, I cannot descend to particularize to strang- 
ers why I am thus dejected and obscured; 1 beseech you, 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 17 

sir, as jou are a gentleman, to retire ; ray husband's re- 
turn is every moment expected — his appearance, therefore, 
might embarrass you, nor could it be fairly understood 
that you entered these apartments on the invitation of my 
child. [Heartall botvs to Mrs. M. and is going off the 
stage when Malfort entering l.h., meets him.) 

Malf. I beg your pardon, sir, I have mistaken the apart- 
ment. [Frank H. botvs, and looks confused.) 

Julia. [Runs to Malf.) Oh no, father ! this is our draw- 
ing-room ; yonder is mamma. 'Twas I asked the gentle- 
man in to see us ; I thought he wanted my mamma. 

Malf Indeed! 

Julia. Yes, indeed. 

Frank H. [Aside.) So, I am in for it again ; my old 
luck! 

Malf Sir, I know not how to address you, nor can I 
guess your errand hither : if from those who once called 
themselves my friends, you have been informed of my mis- 
fortunes — the general wreck of my affairs — the total anni- 
hilation of my property — and in the pride of fullness and 
prosperity, are come to banquet on my miseries or insult 
the virtue of my afflicted wife ! — behold it all ; indulge 
your malice, and begone : — I have not now the spirit to 
resent ; poverty can make us cowards as well as wretches. 

[Crosses to k.h.) 

Frank H. [Aside.) Always running my head against 
stone-walls. — Why, look you, sir. You see me here, the 
slave of accident. Attracted by the charms of a lady I 
last night encoimtered at the opera, I traced her to this 
house ; and guided by this little seraph, I entered this 
apartment. If beauty in distress, shining through virtuous 
tears, excited more than my common notice, it is the lot 
of man so far to err : but if I have offended her or you, 
devoutly I entreat your pardon ; and I trust I may yet 
find an opportunity to convince you, that while my eyes 
fill at the recital of your distresses, my heart pants with 
ardor to relieve them. [Exit Frank H. hastily, ^^.u. 

Julia. [Coining forward.) Dear, dear ! is the gentleman 
gone ? I'm so sorry ! I'll run and see him to the door. 

\_Exit Julia, l.h. 

[Malfort, with a deep sigh, throws himself into a chair. 
Mrs. Malfort comes from where she was seated, and 



18 THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 

leaning pensively on his shoulder, takes his hand, and 
looking tenderly on him, speaks — ) 

Mrs. M. Henry ! 

Malf. My love ? {After much eynotion.) The trial is 
past. All is gone ; the merciless creditors have shared 
among them the little remnant of our all ; and we are left 
without a friend — a home — a shilling ! 

Mrs. M. And yet we may still be happy. 

Malf. Never — never. I am marked by fate a victim for 
despair. By heaven ! were it not for j^ou and my poor 
suffering innocent, I'd not endure this weight of sorrow 
and disgrace. To bear the taunting mocks of bloated af- 
fluence ! — pointed at as the ruined wretch, whom treach- 
erous fortune crushed in her angriest mood, and levelled 
with the dust. O, torture ! torture! 

Mrs. M. Nay, for my sake, check these tumultuous 
passions. Consider, Henry : in your prosperous days, 
when did the unrelieved beggar pass your gate? was your 
hand ever shut against the orphan's cry ? or did the 
wretched widow's plaint pass unheeded through your ear ? 
The power that punishes, can reward; if vice, though late, 
must meet the scourge of retribution^ — virtue has claims, 
that Providence will foster. 

Malf. Sweet comforter ! If you can endure, 'twere im- 
pious in me to murmur : yet fate will have it so. Oh ! 
could the best of fathers and of men — ^if yet he lives — 
pierce the gloom of distance, which now obscures us from 
each others sight — did he but know the virtuous partner 
of my sufferings, for whose sad sake, and my poor endear- 
ing little one, I thus am shook with agonizing torments ; 
his generous spirit would burst through all restraining 
bonds to banish misery, and all its haggard train of pale- 
faced sorrows ! Oh ! multiplying horrors crowd upon my 
bewildered imagination ! Houseless ! — friendless ! — my 
wife ! my child ! — defenceless and forlorn ! without the 
means of satisfying one scanty meal ; — too proud to beg — 
wilUng to toil, but unequal to the task — ^no hand to suc- 
cour, no friend to advise — no faithful bosom to repose my 
sorrows on ! 

Mrs. M. Yes ; here is a hand to succour — a friend to 
advise — a bosom to repose your sorrows on ! 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 19 

Malf. What have I said ? — forgive me, Harriet, I shall 
be calm. 

Mrs. M. Henry ! — distress, afflictian, want of food and 
raiment, I could endure with you ; barefoot and wretched, 
I could take my infant in these arms, and bear her proudly, 
though disgrace and misery marked my steps, would you 
but smile at fortune's angry frown, and bear your lot with 
patient, manly suffering. 

Malf. Oh ! {In extreme agony and grief.) 

Mrs. M. It is for me you feel these strong emotions, 
and for my child — I know it, Henry. Yet hope ! — for 
what is not hope ? It is the prisoner's freedom, the sick 
man's health, the Christian's consolation. . 

Malf. I cannot speak — I feel thee my superior, and am 
lost in M'onder at thy virtues. {Throws himself into a 
chair ^ r. h., extremely moved ; she turns, looks at him, 
clasps her hands in an agony of sorrow, and then seats 
herself l.h. A pause.) 

Julia. {Entering hastily, l.h.) dear — he's gone ! — I 
never yet saw any stranger that I lov'd so well: — when he 
talk'd of you, mamma, he sigh'd, grew pale as ashes, and 
wiped his eye so often : — he asked me if I was fond of 
dolls and toys ? — I said " to be sure, sir, all little girls love 
their dolls." — " Then," said he, " take this money, my 
little angel, and let your mamma buy some for you;" — 
and then he kissed me, wiped his eyes, and stepped into a 
carriage. Only look here, father ! — La ! what nice thin 
paper he has wrapped it in. ( Unfolding a dollar or crown 
piece,she hands the coin to her mother, and shews the paper 
to her father.) 

Malf. {Looking ivith astonishment at the paper.) Oh, 
Providence ! Providence ! why should the wretch despair ? 

Mrs. M. { Observing Malfort — looks over his shoulder on, 
the paper.) Two hundred pounds ! — Riches ! — Happiness ! 
— New life ! {Sinks into his arms — the child, distressed 
and alarmed, catches her mother'' s garment, and looks in' her 
face with an anxious and solicitous concern. Scene closes 
them in.) 



END OP ACT I. 



20 THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — An Apartment in Governor HeartcdVs 
House. 

Enter Ferret and Timothy, l.h. 

" Fer. "Well, master Timothy — and so the Governor is 
quite hearty, you say. 

Ti7)i. Yes, sir — quite in good heart — I wish I could say 
as much for all his acquaintance. {Significantly.) 

Fer. You are right, Timothy — a. good heart is now a- 
days a scarce commodity to find. 

Tim. Perhaps you find it so, sir ; for my part I never 
go abroad to look for one. 

Fer. Indeed ! — it may be so ; you have a master that 
has heart enough for all his family. 

Tim. Yes ; but the goodness of his heart is not domes- 
ticated — his is a kind of vagabond heart — that is, for ever 
strolling ; but it is in search of new objects to exercise its 
bounty on. 

Fer. Well said, Tim : You seem to know your master 
perfectly. 

Tim. Yes, sir ; I have lived with him some time — and 
what, perhaps, you will think very extraordinary — I wish 
to die with him. 

Fer. Very extraordinary, indeed. — But here is your 
master. 

Enter Governor Heartall, r.h. 

Good morrow. Governor ! — 

Gov. Ah ! old Ferret — how d'ye do ? 

Fer. In my old way. Governor, well and hearty ; but 
you — ^you look charmingly. 

Gov. Do I ? — You know that's not true ! — I do not 
look charmingly — 'Pshaw ! I hate your false compliments. 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 21 

Well, old Ferret ! — ^when have you seen my nephew ? — 
what do you know of young Scapegrace ? 

Fer. Humph ! — nothing — that is — nothing particular. 

Gov. Then you do know nothing ; for every thing he 
does is particular. The strongest reasons I have for ad- 
miring the rascal is his particularities. Sometimes he is 
particularly civil, at others particularly insolent ; now he 
is overcome by some poor wretch's particular distress, and 
particularly happy if he can relieve it ; he is particularly 
volatile upon all occasions that are not particular, and par- 
ticularly miserable when I appear to be particular with 
him. 

Fer. But when he squanders large sums upon his par- 
ticular follies and charities — 

Gov. I am sure he never keeps any particular account 
of them. 
-Fer. 'Twere better if he did. 

Gov. I say no. His open hand is his ledger, and his 
charities are registered on the hearts of the indigent. 

Ti')n. That account is closed, Mr. Ferret : — ^you had 
better turn over a new leaf \_Exit Timothy^ l.h. 

Fer. {Looking after him.) Puppy ! — Well, Governor, 
you certainly have a right to approve or disapprove of 
your nephew's conduct, as -you think proper — 'tis no busi- 
ness of mine. 

Gov. I know it. 

Fer. But were he my nephew, and had I seen him 
watching and skulking after a poor innocent female from 
the country, unknown and unprotected in this great city- 
bribing landladies and servants to get to her apartments — 

Gov. How ! What do you say ? {Eagerly.) 

Fer. And on being disappointed there — shocking the 
modesty of a poor afflicted married woman in the same 
house, in which he was surprised by her husband, and 
called to such account, as made him cut a very silly 
figure — 

Gov. What ! Frank ? 

Fer. Nay, happy to part with a tolerable sum to quash 
the affair, and reconcile the parties, — 

Gov. My nephew ? 

Fer. I think, in such a case, his moral character is not 
so highly estimable as fawners or sycophants would 



22 THE soldier's daughter. 

describe it to you — nor does his conduct keep pace with 
the reputation necessary for an English merchant. 

Gov. It's a lie, old Ferret ; — I cannot believe it ! 
{Coolly.) 

Fer. Yes, all are liars who do not paint this youth in all 
the glowing tints of fancied excellence ! I know you could 
devour me now — give me to your dogs — because I tell 
you your nephew is not an angel. 

Gov. No — you — you mistake me ; I wou'dn't have him 
an angel, but I would have him a man — an honest man ; 
one that would set detraction at defiance — I would not 
have him a poor, petty, paltry cent, per cent. Gripus ; — I 
would have him in the most extensive sense of the word, 
an English merchant ! — a patriotic citizen ; with skill and 
enterprise exerted to advance his country's prosperity, and 
a heart and spirit determined to maintain its honor. 

Fer. Yet, while his wealth lasts, neither my advice, nor 
yours, nor the precepts of his late worthy father, — which 
merely serve him now as amusement for his dissolute com- 
panions, — can check his career down the hill of folly. 

Gov. Laugh at the precepts of his father ! Can he be 
such a profligate ? I'll give the rascal up for ever ! My 
precepts, heaven knows, are sometimes whimsical enough, 
and, perhaps, deserve to be laugh'd at — ^yet not by him, 
the dog ! But his father had a wise and steady head ; he 
was no weathercock, like me ; he made his fortune at 
home at the desk, by black and white ; — damme I had no- 
thing but blacks to make my fortune by ! {Crosses to l.h.) 
Zounds, I'm as hot as cayenne or curry-powder — and if 
the rasca! were to come in my way no\v, I should — {Enter 
Erank Heartall, l.h. ; he runs into the Goveriwrh open 
arms, wlw clasps him to his breast.) — My dear, dear Erank ! 

Frank H. Uncle ! — dearest uncle — best of uncles ! 

Gov. {Almost crying.) It's a lie, you dog ! — I am the 
worst of uncles — for I press a profligate nephew to my 
bosom : — I look in his face, forget his villanies, and, unhke 
a parent or a friend, I uphold an impudent scoundrel, who 
deliberates the seduction of an innocent rustic creature, at 
the very moment he is destroying the peace of a distressed 
and wretched family. 

Frank II. Me, uncle ? What— Mr. Eerret ? Pooh ! 
you are joking ! 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 23 

Gov. Only look at the rascal, now ! — ^look at that face of 
innocence ! Oh — you — ^you ugly hypocrite ! 

Frank H. Seducing rural innocence ! — destroying the 
peace of families ! Upon my soul, sir, these are serious 
charges ? Haven't I committed murder, too ? — shot a 
bishop's coach-horse, or fired a church ? 

Fer. Turn the matter as you please, sir ; did you not, 
last night, dodge from the opera a lady to a house in Jer- 
myn-street ? 

Frank H. Yes, yes, I did — and a gentleman too ; — 
you sly old poacher. {To Ferret.) 

Go^;. Eh !— What !— What's all this ? 

Fer. Can you deny that you have this day again beset 
her lodgings, bribed her landlady, and — • 

Frank H. ( Crosses to centre.) Stop, my dear fellow, 
stop ! It's all true — I plead guilty so far; but curse me if 
ever I opened my lips to her. She's an angel, by heaven ! 
fire, water, stone-walls, bolts, bars, grates, graves, or gates 
of adamant, shall not prevent me from an interview with 
that divine, that fascinating woman ! 

Gov. What the devil ! The fellow's in the clouds now. 

Frank H. O uncle ! such a creature ! Old Slyboots 
there knows her well enough ! [To Ferret.) 

Fer. Sir, — such observations are offensive ! She is 
above your calumny. 

Frank H. I know it : her mind is in her face ; her eyes 
are mirrors that reflect her soul, her lips are truth and in- 
nocence, while each cheek presents the modest glow of 
health and virtue : I die for her, by heaven ! I would break 
through all forms, and — 

Fer. Break through all forms ? Aye, sir, and insult 
with rude ribaldry the distresses of an unfortunate family 
lodged in the same house. 

Frank H. 'Tis false, by heaven ! I never yet entered 
the abode of the wretched to mock their miseries. 

Gov. Answer to the charge, sir: — none of your heroics, 
but speak plainly ; if you are scoundrel, tell me so — prove 
yourself a rascal, and I am satisfied. 

. Frank H. This is a land of liberty, uncle, and I have 
no right to criminate myself; however, thus it was— V 
shall be my judge. ' 

Gov. Speak honestly, you dog-i-for if the proof b« 




24 THE soldier's daughter. 

presumptive, I'll hang you on it without iDenefit of clergy I 

Frank H. I am an odd fellow, uncle, — 

Gov. You need not tell me that. 

Frank H. I know you like me the better for it — 

Gov. It's a lie ! — ^but go on. 

Frank H. At the opera, last night, I beheld an angel, 
in company with old Cerberus there ! {Looking at Ferret.) 
I was almost mad, I own, and would have given half my 
fortune to have exchanged a sentence with her : — the em- 
blem of innocence and purity. I watched her home — 
marked her lodgings— then drove to my house — talked to 
the clei'ks — looked at the supper table — housekeeper in- 
quired, if I wished for any thing particular ?— -Yes, said 
I, a charming creature !— -the woman stared— -What will 
your honor have for supper ;— -old Ferret—about two and 
twenty-— such eyes— -went to bed— -tossed, tumbled, and 
dreamt of Arcadian beauties, sheephooks, garlands of wild 
daisies, and old Ferret ;-— this morning attacked my fortress 
afresh ; it would not do— -such a creature— -her distress 
brought tears into my eyes — the sweetest little babe too— - 
the most fascinating-— and the man himself, a gentleman to 
all intents and purposes— -overwhelmed with affliction and 
half mad— -my heart almost beat through my bosom— -I 
could think of nothinff— -all was chaos— the angel beino--— 
such a child— -about two and twenty—my heart absolutely 
torn between love and sensibility— -so that I began to— -to--- 
to— -Upon my soul, uncle, I absolutely forget what I have 
been talking about. 

Fer. Aye ; you make a fine story of it. 

Gov. Why, what the devil are you at, sir ? Supping 
upon an old Ferret of two and twenty, and dreaming of 
sheephooks and daisies ! Zounds, sirrah ! do you take me 
for a fool or a madman ? 

Frank II. Neither, my dear uncle, neither ; but you 
must not quarrel with me for little irregularities. When 
they become- vices, consider them in their Avorst light, and 
kick me out of your doors ! 

Gov. Hey ! he begins to talk sense now. 

Frank 11. I own, I feel myself smitten wnth a woman, 
whose honorable alliance, from report, would not discredit 
my family, and with your leave I am determined honorably 
to pursue her. Is this seduction ? 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 25 

Gov. Hnmpli ! no. 

Frank H. I have seen a beauteous woman bathed in the 
tears of misery, and a man of honor driven by misfortune 
to despair : if, by stretching my hand with what I could 
well spare, I have alleviated their calamities — have 1 in 
this act meditated the destruction of their peace ? 

Gov. {;Feeli7iglij.) No. 

Frank H. Then where's my offence, and what my 
punishment ? 

Gov. This ! {Emhracing him.) Live for ever in your 
uncle's heart ! You were your father's last legacy to his 
loving brother— an odd, choleric, impatient, "foolish old 
fellow, who Avishes not to see his nephew resemble any 
other man ; if you were to be exactly what I would have 
you, 5^ou would be — yes, you dog, you would be — damme, 
you'd be kick'd out of society, for not bearing a resem- 
blance to any thing in human nature ! {Shakes Ids hand. 
Ferret during tJiis speech gets round to l.h.) 
-^ Fer. "Well, Governor, it makes me more than happy to 
see you reconciled to your nephew. I am naturally 
anxious — a plain man, you know ; but youth will have its 
fling — and the more we check it in its career, perhaps the 
more restive we find it. 

Frank H. Right, Mr. Ferret ; yet sly insinuation Avill 
sometimes warp the heart of benevolence, and the warm 
levity of youth cannot always justif}^ its failings against the 
cold cautions of premeditated h^-pocrisy. Good morning, 
sir ! {Looks severely at Ferret, boivs respectftiUy to his 
uncle ^ and exits r.h.) 

Gov. Eh ! — what, — what's all that about hypocrisy ? I 
don't understand — h^'pocrisy ! 

Fer. But I do. {Aside.) Nor I: your modern . orators 
have a method of sajdng a number of hard words without 
much meaning.'- Good day. Governor; I have business. 
{Takes the Governor'' s hand.) Your nephew is a good 
lad — but have an eye upon him. [Fzit l.h. 

Gov. Ha, ha, ha ! poor honest soul ! he is as watchful 
of that boy, and as pettish when he hears of his little 
errors, as his father would be : well ; he shan't lose by it, 
for I have remembered him handsomely in my will. I 
should hke to see this wench that Frank has fix'd his af- 
fections upon ; — I warrant she's a rare one, for the rogue 



26 THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 

has the family taste ! How the dog described her — eyes, 
and cheeks, and lips ! — and oh, the amorous young villain ! 
I ought to have been his father, for I was violently in love 
with his mother; but my brother, a fine, tall, handsome 
scoundrel, marched in like a great turkey-cock, put me 
aside with one of his wings, and looked as if he would 
gobble me up for presuming to think of such a creature ; 
so I retired in confusion — went to the Indies and forgot 
her, and led a merry bachelor's life ever since ! Merry, 
did I say ? — ah ! — no — not merry ! I hate bachelors — that 
is, I mean, old single gentlemen. Then let my boy be 
man-ied : he shfi!t have a comfort that I never enjoyed 
myself 1 Zounds, it must be a great comfort, for I have 
observed that even those who have the worst of it, who 
scold, brawl, and wrangle 'till they are black in the face, 
and swear never to see one another more — are miserable 
till they make it up, and rush again into each other's 
arms. A fig, then, for scolding wives, crying children, 
pin-money, alimony, or any money but matrimony — my 
boy shall be married ! [Exit l.h. 



SCENE 11.— The Widow Cheerly's Lodgings. 

Enter the Widow Cheerly and Susajst, l.h. 

Wid. Nay, nay, for shame, Susan 1 — ^for shame ! — What 
must the gentleman think ? How could you continue in 
conversation with a strang-er, for such a lens:th of time ? 

Susan. La ! ma'am, — because he talked of nothing but 
you. 

Wid. Me ! why — ^^vhat could a man see in me to talk 
about ? 

Susan. I'm sure I can't tell, ma'am. But hi, hi, hi ! — 
well — he's a droll one, to be sure ! 

Wid. Well, but what does he want ? Who is he ? 

Susan. La, ma'am ! he saw you at the opera last night. 

Wid. Aye ? Is it him ? 

Susan. Yes, ma'am ; our landlady, Mrs. Townly, says 



THE soldier's daughter. 27 

he is a great merchant — a banker, I believes, ma'am, in the 
city ; that he's the best creature in the world — every body 
loves him ! — ! he has call'd you such names ! 
Wid. Names ! 

Susan. Yes, ma'am ; all manner of names : — Cupids ! 
and Pollys ! and Florys ! and Phoebes ! 

Wid. The girl is half mad. 

Susan. If such a sweet gentleman had said so much to 
me, I'm sure I should be whole mad ! — ha ! ha ! 

Wid. Why, Susan, you are not in the country, now ; 
this is London, child ! — and if all here is not deceitful, this 
certainly is the most disinterested place upon the face of 
the globe ; every morning and evening the public prints 
give you caution, advice, and intelligence unsohcited ; the 
reviewers gratuitously tell you what books are fit for your 
perusal ; and almost every shopkeeper sells his goods at 
prime cost. What can be more liberal ? 

Susan. La, ma'am, you're right ; it's not a bit hke the 
country : there we are so starch'd, and so quizzical, with 
our double Barcelona handkerchiefs, and our long petti- 
coats ; the ladies in Lon'on don't care who sees their necks 
and their ancles. I hopes never to see the filthy country 
again. 

Wid. And I, Susan, am miserable until I get there. 
That gentleman's extraordinary conduct at the opera, last 
night — his eyes absolutely — Plague take the fellow ! Now 
he has found me out, I don't know what may be the con- 
sequence. 

Susan. La, ma'am, he was here this morning. 

Wid. Here !— AVhere ? 

Susan. He popp'd into the gentlefolks' apartments that 
lodges here above, and came running out with his handker- 
chief to his face, and he look'd so sorrowful ! Between 
ourselves, ma'am, all is not right there, I believes ; far as 
I can larn, poor souls, all is low enough. 

Wid. Aye, Susan ; I am but little acquainted with city 
manners, and though my heart feels for their distresses, it 
might be reckoned impertinent curiosity to inquire into 
their circumstances. 

Susan. Well, ma'am ; for my part, I am but a silly 
country girl — I don't care about your Lon'on fashions, 
not I ; and I shouldn't stop a bit at flying into that there 



28 THE soldier's daughter. 

lady's room, and popping into her lap whatever your lady- 
ship thought proper to relieve her with ; for I am sure 
she wants it — and I had rather she should think me un- 
mannerly than unfeeling ! 

Wid. No, no, my girl ; it must be better managed. 
From the glimpse I have had of her, as I passed, her ap- 
pearance promises a tender sensibility ; her situation must 
increase that feeling, and under such circumstances we 
cannot be too delicate. 

Susan. That's very true, ma'am. Shall I step in and 
say 3^ou wish to speak with her ? 

Wid. Yes ; no— stop ; I'll introduce myself ( Opens 
a desk, takes out a j^ocket-hook, sits doivn and lurites.) You 
may go down, Sv.san. 

Stisan. Veiy well, ma'am. If she can relieve them, how 
.happy it will make her! Sure as can be, that banker 
gentleman would assist them, if he wa'n't afraid to go 
about it, I warrant me. 0, bless her ! There would be 
more good servants in the world, if every poor girl had 
half so good a mistress. {Aside, as she exits, l.h.) 

Wid. Plague take that fellow at the opera ! — how -the 
man distracts me ! A banker ! Aye, some fortune-hunt- 
ing spendthrift, I warrant me — that has heard of a young- 
foolish widow, fresh from the country, with a good estate 
in her own possession, and has set up an ideal bank, that 
she may give credit to his affections. When 1 first caught 
his eye, his face seemed all intelligence ! and I durst not 
look upon him after. Heigho ! — not look upon him — 
why ? Why, because I — Devil take the fellow ! — No, no, 
I must never be a wife again. I am spoiled for that — 
indulged beyond what husbands should allow, and so un- 
restricted, that I scarcely knew I had a husband until I 
lost him. Oh, heavens ! what am I about ? Aye, — self, 
self, self In my own silly concerns I forget the distresses 
of my unfortunate neighbors. If I find them worthy, 
my purse they shall freely share ; and I hope it will not 
prove the less acceptable, for being the widow's mite. 

[Exit, L.H. 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 29 



SCENE 111.— The Apartments of Malfortjun. 

Mr. and Mrs. Malfort discovered. Julia, dressing a 

doll. 

Malf. The more I reflect upon that stranger's generous 
conduct, the more my perplexity — the greater my amaze- 
ment. His undisguised and easy manner, strongly indicate 
he had no sinister intent. 

Mrs. M. Believe me, no — ^his face was the index of a 
benevolent heart ; and as he cast a look of sorrow on our 
sufferings, the tear of sympathy bedewed his cheek, and 
almost choked his utterance. 

Julia. Mamma, when will that good 'gentleman come 
again ? I shall be so elad to see him. 

Mrs. M. Shall you, Julia ? 

Julia. I shall, indeed, mamma ! — he'll be surprised to 
see my new doll ! I have call'd it after him ! 

Mrs. M. Indeed ! Do you know his name ? 

Julia. No. 

Mrs. M. Then what do you call your doll ? 

Julia. I call it Miss G-ood-gentleman ! {They senile.) 

Wid. ( Withoict, l. h.) Very well, Susan — you'll find 
me here in the drawing-room. 

Malf. A stranger's voice ! "Who can this bo ? 

.Mrs. M. Nay, I know not, my dear. 

Malf A ladj^, and coming hither ! I'll retire into this 
closet, \_Malf. retires^ taking Julia loith Ziwra, at d.f. l.h.) 

The Widow enters, l. h. 

Mrs. M. {Curtsies.) Madam! 

Wid. Madam ! {Looks about as if she had mistaken the 
room.) My dear madam, I beg ten thousand pardons : — 
this is not my apartment ? 
■ Mrs. M. No, madam. 

Wid. I really know not what apology to make for this 
seeming intrusion. 

Mrs. M. It requires none. 

Wid. I am a volatile, unthinking creature, madam ; a 
widow ; but lately left upon my own hands ; an estate at 



/ 



30 THE SOLDIER S DAUGHTER. 

my disposal, of more than I can manage. This is my first 
visit to London, and if my manners are rustic or un- 
polished, I trust your good-nature will find an excuse for 
them in the sincerity of my intentions. 

Mrs. M. Oh, madam, fashion has banished ceremony ; 
and familiarity and good-breeding are now become synoni- 
mous terms. 

Wid. So I am told, and I am quite glad to hear it. I 
shall stay in London all the winter, that I may be able to 
take down into the country with me as many free airs and 
easy graces, as will completely stock the parish till the 
commencement of the next season. 

Mrs. 31. {Sighing) You have charming spirits^ madam. 

Wid. Yes, madam ; an easy mind sets the imagination 
afloat. Those that are dull, I would fain make merry ; 
and those that are already cheerful, I would fain keep so. 
Good spirits, I believe, like a good temper, cannot be well 
attained ; they are both constitutional ; and those that 
possess either, cannot be too thankful for the blessing. 

Mrs. M. Yet circumstances, madam, may depress the 
spirits, and misfortune sour the temper. There are those 
who have been blessed with both, in whom they are now 
destroyed. 

Wid. Aye ! I would I knew them ; for I have been 
told that I have a facility in raising the spirits, and creat- 
ing good-humour, Avherever I appear. I wish you could 
introduce me to them : — are they friends of yours ? 

Mrs. M. Yes, madam :— my nearest — dearest friends.; 
in whose delightful society I have shared the sunshine of 
their splendour ; and from whom, though in deepest 
misery, I can never depart. 

Wid. The very beings I wish to be acquainted with : 
you must introduce me. Dear, dear London ! You can- 
not meet with any thing like this in the country. Where 
is the use of houses, parks, woods, and orchards, where 
every body has houses, woods, and orchards ? Bring nne 
to the distrest and houseless ; under my humble, happy 
roof, they shall enjoy, at least, a temporary repose ; and in 
the interim fortune may again smile, and in her merriest 
mood invite them back to home, to peace, and plenty. 

Mrs. M. You, madam, I perceive, are one of those 
chosen few, on whom fortune has not blindly poured her 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 31 

favors. Your bounty flows from humanity's true source 
— the fountain of benevolence. 

Wid. Benevolence ! nat at all, madam : I am, in fact, 
a sensualist in the clearest sense of the word ; self-gratifi- 
cation is the spring of all my actions. I am young, madam, 
richly left, my own mistress to all intents and purposes ; 
why then should I think of hoarding wealth I can never 
want, while many, a thousand times more worthy than 
myself, are perishing for the means of present sustenance ? 
What can be more voluptuous than to behold the cripple 
throw by his crutch, whom your humanity has healed ?— 
Can luxury be more highly gratified than in viewing the 
famished wretch eat cheerfully of the meal your charity 
prepared for him ? Can the heart of vanity feel a more 
triumphant joy than when the unfortunate and meritorious 
condescend to share your roof, and smile complacent on 
the comforts you afford them ? 

Mrs. M. Yours are the sentiments of true philanthropy ; 
modest misfortune shrinks into its dreary confine, and 
eats, with heavy heart, its tear-washed crust. 

Wid. I perceive, madam, I have been guilty of intrusive 
impertinence. {Preventing Mrs. M. from reiolying.) Nay, 
I beseech you, madam, — I rattle strangely, and wish, with 
all my soul, I could impart to you a portion of my over- 
flowing spirits : — but I have a sovereign remedy for va- 
pours, if you would permit me to prescribe for you. 

Mrs. M. The medicine that comes from so kind a physi- 
cian requires no adventitious aid to make it palatable. 

Wid. Your frankness charms me, madam. In. this little 
family receipt-book you will find a short, but certain sys- 
tem to banish temporary misfortunes, and check the 
progress of approaching calamity. {Mrs. M. seems to refuse 
it.) Nay, madam — 'tis but a short maxim — and I trust not 
unworthy of your perusal. If, when you know me better, 
yourself and friends will add to the comforts of my rural 
cot, by sharing all its pleasures with me, the blessing of 
cheerfulness shall at least attend you — we'll laugh together 
at the frowns of fate, and fortune herself shall not appear 
amongst us, unless she comes smilingly clad in the robes 
of good-humour. Nay, no ceremony. {Exit, l.h., 

{Mrs. M. sees her to the door — curtsies.) 

Mrs. M. How strange is all this ; the cheerful ease — the 



32 THE soldier's daughter. 

unajQFected benevolence of that charming woman's conver- 
sation, recalls the memory of happier days, and, for a 
while assuages sorrow. 



Malfort enters froin the Closet. (Rings.) 

Mrs. M. And no\v, believe me, Henry, in the higher 
walks of life the greater number of our sex have hearts 
that feel distress, and bounteous hands outstretched for its 
reUef, whose pride it is to succour modest genius, and bind 
round the brow of merit the laurel of reward. But hei'e 
is the lively widow's recipe for cheerfulness — peruse it. 
{Gives him the lyocket-hook.) 

Malf. {He opens it, and taking from it a hank-note., looks 
at it ivith astonishment.) A bank-note? Can it be? 
{Gives it to Mrs. Malfort.) 

Mrs. M. Henry ! — What — shall we ? — {As if she asked 
to go and return it.) 

Malf. Stay — ^here is something written : — {Reads.) 

Madam, 

When tve can do good, the ceremony that prevents it is 
wicked. From this you tvill understand, I have been in- 
formed that certain tcntotvard circumstances have given a 
temporary derangement to your family affairs ; as an im- 
onediate supply may he indispensahly necessary, I have, 
perhaps impertinently , taken tlds method of presenting it. 
lean only he convinced that you forgive the liherty I have 
taken, by you and your family honoring my house in the 
country toith your iwesence, until the smiles of fortune 
shall supersede the frotvns of adversity ; — xohere your com- 
fort and accommodation shall be the peculiar care of her, ■ 
%ohose heart feels the most lively sorroiv at your disappoint- 
onents. Charlotte Cheerly. 

Merciful heaven ! — how wondrous are thy bounties ! — 
"Wickedly desponding, I resigned myself a victim to des- 
pair — scorning the counsel of a gentle comforter, and 
impiously repining at the decrees of fate : — when, at the 
very moment that haggard Famine unveiled his care-worn 
face, smiUng Plenty steps in to drive the monster hence — 



THE soldier's daughter. 33 

to chide the misbelieving sufferer — and prove how dire, 
how deadly is his crime, who doubts the justice of unerring 
Providence. [Exeiont^ r. h. 



END OF ACT II. 



ACT III. 

SCENE l.—The Widozv^s Apartments. 

The "Widow and Erank Heartall, Enter, l. h. 
laughing. 

Wid. Ha, ha, ha ! — Upon my word, sir, — I perceive 
you are perfectly an adept in fashionable manners ; and 
stand upon little ceremony. 

Frank H. None at all, madam ; — ^we merchants pride 
ourselves upon the bluntness of our manners, and the 
plainness of our dealings. 

Wid. Indeed, sir ? 

Frank H. Yes, indeed, madam ; — ^we'll transact you an 
hundred thousand pounds worth of business in a morning, 
without so much as a yes or a no : — the pen that crosses 
the mouth is an emblem of silence ; but if we are com- 
pelled to answer questions, we always keep in the counting- 
house a dumb, but candid orator, that is sure to speak 
honorably for us. 

Wid. A dumb and honorable orator ! Who is that, 
pray ? 

Frank H. The ledger. 

Wid. But now you are out of the counting-house, I 
perceive your eloquence is not of that mute nature — You 
are no ledger. 

Frank H. You shall find me as faithful, madam. 



/ 



34 THE soldier's daughter. 

Wid. 'Tis not my business to examine your accounts, 
sir — but should I bring you to book — notwithstanding all 
your boasted regularity, there is something in that sly 
countenance that tells me you have sometimes staked your 
credit at too great a venture. In the case of a consign- 
ment now, we'll say — For instance — a lady's heart — 

Frank H. Oh ! — Errors excepted ! 

Wid. What ! you own it, do you ? 

Frank H. Yes, madam — in a mercantile w^ay. Look 
you, madam : I am a plain fellow ; neither more nor less 
than the character ,1 boast, and hope I shall never disgrace 
— an Enghsh merchant. I throw down no man's enclo- 
sure, trample upon no man's corn, take nothing from the 
industrious labourer, pay the poor man for his work, and 
communicate my profit with mankind : — 1 trust I have a 
heart to succour the distressed, and what I can fairly 
spare I distribute freely. If you can take for granted an 
odd wild fellow's report of himself, there it is — you have 
it, madam. 

Wid. Why, really, sir, I never heard a better character, 
— ;and if you could contrive to get it backed by the church- 
wardens of your parish, I might, perhaps, give a little 
credit to it. 

Frank H. Well, madam — if you cannot credit the cha- 
racter you have just now had of me, from a devilish honest 
fellow, I must even refer you to your friend, Mr. Ferret. 
He, perhaps, may be better acquainted with me than I am 
■with myself ; — he knows me. 

Wid. He hinted as much. {Dryly.) 

Frank H. Did he ? then that's all you can expect from 
him : he hinted to me that he knew you, but the devil a 
syllable more could I get out of the old close-lipped cur-' 
mudgeon. 

Wid. My situation, sir, is above disguise. I am the 
daughter of a gallant officer, who served his country nobly, 
and, retiring to the humble vale of rural seclusion, at an 
advanced age he died ; bequeathing to his son and daugh- 
ter his sole possessions — his laurels and his honor. 

Frank 11. Enviable, madam, though not substantial. 

Wid. Now, sir, I am my own mistress — accountable for 
my actions to no person living. 

Frank H. I know it. 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 35 

Wid. I am a single woman. 

Frank H. I know it. 

Wid. But have been mairied. 

Frank H. I know it. 

Wid. My husband dead. 

Frank H. {Aside.) Thank heaven ! — I know that too. 

Wid. A free, disencumbered estate — 

Frank H. Damn the estate ! I beg your pardon, ma'am, 
don't mention the estate. You are single — that's enough ; 
you have been married — Did you like the state ? 

Wid. Yes— I think I did. 

Frank H. Humph ! — think you did ! — Fond of your 
husband ? 

Wid. Humph— Y — es — I think I was : — I was married 
but three years — didn't see much of him. 

Frank H. "Wha — wha — what ! — not in three years ? 

Wid. No — the sports of the field charmed him from his 
home always at day break — himself and his friends gene- 
rally returned in the evening, time enough for a lat© 
dinner — drank their wine and went to bed ; — the next 
morning — 

Frank H. Well, madam — the next morning ? 

Wid. The same career commenced again — and so on to 
the end of the third chapter. 

Frank H. And for heaven's sake, madam, how did you 
behave ? 

Wid. Why, sir — ^how should I behave ? 

Frank H. IJpon my soul, I can't tell, madam — but I 
think I could contrive to get you a lesson in some married 
family between Piccadilly and Aldgate. 

Wid. I was always happy to see him return in health 
and spirits. His eyes sparkled with pleasure when I met 
him at the gate : and, as he introduced me to each new 
guest, he would say, " This is my wife — look at her — she 
has a heart as open as my wine cellar. — My hall is heaven 
to me whenever I enter it. — Kiss me, my girl ; make my 
friends welcome — and let's have a good dinner." 

Frank H. And tho' thus neglected — you complied ? 

Wid. Neglected ? — I never felt it in that sense. The 
strong prejudice of his education rendered his habits un- 
conquerable ; an attempt to counteract them on my side, 
must naturally produce strife : besides, it was his only fail- ' 



36 T5IE soldier's DAUGHTER. 

ing ; for he was open, generous, hospitable, and manly — 
his whole estate was at my disposal, either to gratify my 
vanity in all the little time-serving fopperies of my sex, or 
in the more solid sensations of relieving human misery. 

Frank H. He was a good man — upon my soul he was 
a good man — but rather too fond of hunting : — Had I such 
a wife — 

Wid. You'd be fond of hunting too : Nay — in open 
defiance of the laws, trespass, perhaps, upou your neigh- 
bour's manor. 

Frank II. Upon my word, you wrong me, madam — but 
your good humour charms me ; your eyes first enslaved 
my heart, and your teinper rivets my chain ; — how shall 
I convince you that I love you ? 

Wid. To what purpose would you convince me ? You 
have a heart ventured on another voyage : when it returns 
you may calculate the profit and loss ; if you find it still 
marketable, perhaps, the bargain may be otfered — to our 
house. 

Fra7ik II. Though you speak in my own phrase, I don't 
understand you, madam. 

Wid. No ? — that's surprising : — pray, sir, have you not 
visited another lady in this house ? 

Frank H. Madam, a — no — ther lady ? 

Wid. Yes, — sir, — another lady : — to whom you were 
pleased to say, as I am informed, abundance of civil 
things. 

Frank H. Madam ! 

Wid. You were much struck with her person, and felt 
a lively concern for her misfortunes — 

Frank H. Upon my honor, madam, you — you — {Aside.) 
Yes, at it again, — another scrape ! 

Wid. A husband — will sometimes be an unmannerly 
intruder ; and if a gentleman can sneak out of such a 
situation in a whole sldn — 

Frank H. He certainly has no right to be displeased 
with his adventure. 

Wid. Am I right, sir ? 

Frank II. Yes, madam, the entries are pretty fair — but 
as to the sum total — 

Wid. Oh ! — Errors excepted ! 

Frank H. Ha, ha, ha ! That I have accidentally 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 37 

conversed with a lady in this house, does not admit of a 
doubt : but let the result of that interview be what it may 
— my heart approves, and my conscience cannot reproach 
me with it. 



Enter George, l. h. 

Geo. Mrs. Malfort, if you are alone, madam, would 
speak with you on particular business. 

Wid. {Aside.) Noav for it ! — I am alone : beg of her to 
step in. \^Exit George, l.h. 

Frank H. "I'll retire, madam. 

Wid. Oh, by no means ! You know the lady. 

Frank H. Not I, madam. Malfort ! I know no lady of 
the name. 

Wid. {Significantly.) Indeed, sir ? 

Frank H. ISTo; indeed, madam— I have heard my uncle 
mention a gentleman of that name, a very intimate friend 
of his, now, I believe, in the Indies. 

Wid. But no lady of that name comes within the circle 
of your acquaintance ? 

Frank H. No, upon my honor, madam. 

Enter Mrs. Malfort, l.h. 

( Widow receives her ivith great cordiality.) 

. Wid. My dear Mrs. Malfort, ten thousand welcomes. — 
Mr. Heartall — Mrs. Malfort. {Introducing her, and looking 
signijicanth/ at Heartall.) 

Frank H. This Mrs. Malfort ?— Madam— I— I— am 
happy to — {Confused and bo-wing.) 

Mrs. M. Sir — the pleasure of this opportunity — ^is — a — 
circumstance that — 

Frank H. My dear madam, don't mention it — I wish — ■ 
I wish entirely to — I wish — {Aside.) I wish the ice was set 
in, and I was over head and ears in the New River ! 

Wid. You don't know the lady, sir ; — what is the 
matter with you ? 

Frank H. In for it again ! {Aside.) 

Mrs. M. Madam — after a fair perusal of your book — ^by 



38 THE soldier's daughter. 

which I have marked indelibly the spirit of its contents 
upon my heart — I beg to return it unimpaired !- -unless 
the tear of gratitude may have soiled the leaf whereon the 
hand of benevolence had written its inscription. 

Wid. My dear Mrs. ]\Lalfort— we'll talk over that 
matter another time ; 1 positively cannot receive it now. 
Do 5'ou know, madam, tliat this gentleman has been mak- 
ing a tender of his affections to me, with all the freedom 
of an old dangler — tho,' bless the man ! I hav'n't known 
him above a dozen hours. 

Mrs. M. Some. men, madam, are easier known in that 
shoi't space, than others in half a centurj'. _ The woman 
who dares entrust her heart to that gentleman, — will, in 
my mind, find a heart to keep it company. 

Wid. A greut many, I believe, madam : Oh, he looks 
like a young Blue-Beard ! — a fellow that has no more 
mercy upon poor women's hearts, than his predecessor 
had upon their heads. 

Frank H. Upon my word, madam, this is cruel : I am 
much afraid you have had but an indifferent character of 
me. 

Wid. My good friend, I have had no character at all of 
you : You must positively get a certificate from your last 
place before I can take you into my service. 



Enter George, l. h. 

Geo. A servant from your uncle, sir,-^says he knows 
you are here, and must see jon directly. 

{Frank TI. going to cross, is 2yrcve?ited hy the Widow.) 

Wid. You positively must not stir. Send the servant 
up. [Exit George, l.h. 

Frank H. My dear madam, permit me to see him be- 
low-stairs. He is the strangest creature — 

Wid. No, no ; let us have him. I like strange creatures. 
Be thankful ; it mends your chance. 



Enter Timothy, l.h. 
Frank H. What, Timothy ! you have found me out ? 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 39 

Tim. Yes, sir ; we have ferreted you ! 

Frank H. What, I am obhged to him,' — am I ? 

Ti7n. If you think it an obhgation, there it is due. 

Frank H. I am afraid I owe him many. such. 

Tim. I beheve you do. I don't know what he has been 
saying, but the Governor blows a tornado : he has been in 
five and twenty humours in three and twenty minutes — I 
left him ordering the carriage ; he swears he'll follow, and 
blow you up as high as Cape Finisterre. So I thought 
I'd trot on before, and give you the hard word. 

Frank H. Thank you, Timothy ; yoa are an honest 
fellow. 

Tim. Not I, bless you ; I'm no honest fellow. I am as 
great a rogue as old Ferret ; only it's in another kind of 
way. 

Wid. Indeed, Mr. Timothy ? 

Tim. Fact, madam : I'm a very great villain — If I did 
not every night persuade my master that his nephew was 
a most consummate scoundrel, no rhetoric would convince - 
him in the morning that he was an honest man. 

Wid. Ha, ha, ha ! But if he acts so much by contra- 
ries, how can Ferrefs insinuations injure his nephew ? 

Tim. Because, ma'am — they are insinuations — damnable 
hints — and diabolical inuendoes : — never speaks bolt out- 
right ! — a toad in a hole, that spits his venom all around 
him, but can't get out of his circle. 

Wid. Ha, ha, ha ! You have a pleasant time of it among 
them all, Mr. Timothy ! 

Tivi. Bless you, ma'am, I like it. I am an odd fish, 
master says, and love to swim in troubled waters. I never 
laugh at his good-humours, nor frown at his infirmities ; I 
always keep a sober steady phiz — fix'd as the gentleman's 
on horseback at Charing-Cross : and in his worst of hu- 
mours, when all is fire and fagots with him, if I turn round 
and coolly say, " Lord, sir, has any thing ruffied you ?" 
he'll burst out into an immoderate fit of laughter, and ex- 
claim, " Curse that inflexible face of thine, though you 
never suffer a smile to mantle on it, yet it is a figure of 
fun to all the rest of the world ! " {All laugh.) 

Wid. This gentleman, I presume, Mr. Timothy, is rather 
a favorite of yours. 

Tim. I can't tell, madam ; I have fought many a battle 



40 THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 

for him, and I am afraid there will be man)'- more fought 
on his account, when the ladies begin to know him about 
half as well as I do. 

Wid. Ha, ha, ha ! What, are the ladies to quarrel about 
him too ? 

Tim. Yes ; I think there will be some pulling- of caps ! 
but all for the good of trade ; the destruction of lace will 
draw down the blessing of Bond street on him. 

Frank H- AVell, Timothy, I shall see the Governor, and 
try to appease his wrath. 

Tim. I am going : I see what you are about here ; a 
fine creature — lucky rogue ! but mum — I say nothing. 

Frank H. A¥ell, well ; you are a good fellow, Timothy, 
and I shall find a time to reward your kindness. 

Thn. Don't mention it : I have taken the hberty of 
trotting hither on a message of self-gratification — when I 
am sent on one, I shall be proud to taste the sweets of your 
honor's bount}^. \_Exit, l.h. 

Frank H. Ha, ha, ha ! Poor Timothy ! 

Wid. Upon ray word, this Mr. Ferret, seems a danger- 
ous man. But he is one of my husband's executors, and 
under his protection I am here. 

Frank H. I should like to take the trouble oif his hands. 
Cou'dn't you make a transfer ? 

Wid. Do you hear him, Mrs. Malfort ? Transfer ! — 
I shall never be able to keep this poor man out of the 
stocks. 

Frank H. In plain English, madam — I love you — with 
all the sincerity and honor of an honest man. 

Wid. Lord a'mercy ! what is the creature at ? 

Frank H. That best of men, my uncle, is deluded by a 
fiend — wh^ose schemes I could instantly counteract ; but 
must not, in pity to an old man's caprice ; for though I 
am independent of my uncle's wealth, I am not of his 
affection. 

Wid. Give me leave to ask, who is your uncle, sir ? 

Frank H. A gentle-hearted humourist, madam ; old 
Governor Heartall. 

Wid. Late from India ? 

Frank H. But a few years since, madam. 

Wid. {Aside.) Heavens! the most intimate friend of my 
father. 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 41 

Gov. ( Within, l.h.) Here ? — What, here — in this apart- 
ment ? A rascal ! a dog ! 

Wid. AVhat bustle is tiiis ? 

Frank H. My dear madam — it is my uncle — {Aside.) 
What the de^nl shall I do ? — For heaven's •sake, madam, 
excuse the frailties of age — forgive the whimsicalities of a 
poor old man ! 

Wid. Don't fidget yourself— 'tis hard, indeed, if I can't 
manage an old man. 



Governor, enters, l.h., folloioed by Eerret; they go over 
to R.H. 5 Frank H. crosses behind to l.h. 

Gov. A scoundrel ! — a sneaking, lying villain ! — all cant 
and hypocrisy ! to ruin families by v^holesale. Where is 
this widow witch ? 

Wid. Mr. Ferret — you were my husband's executor — 
I didn't know you were my groom of the chambers also, 
( With asperity.) 

Fer. Madam — I am naturally anxious : when I know 
the nephew of my friend is rendering himself odious or 
contemptible, I stand upon no ceremony to reclaim him. 

Frank H. {Aside.) I shall never keep my temper — I 
must cut that fellow's throat. 

Gov. Madam, I ask your pardon ; I perceive I have 
press'd in rudely here. 

Wid. Sir, you are most heartily welcome : I have often 
heard my late much-lov'd father mention Governor Heart- 
all — with more than pleasure, with the affection of a sincere 
friend. 

Gov. Ay — indeed ! Who was he, praj?" ? 

Wid. Colonel Woodley. 

Gov. What, Jack ? — honest Jack — worthy Jack — Jack 
"*~»^oodley ? Old Ferret, is this the widow ? 
^Fer. Yes. {Dryly, on r.h.) 

Gov. Ay ? {Looking stedfastly at her.) I can't perceive 
that malignant smile, that devil in her countenance, which 
you say is the sure index of a shrew, and must render a 
husband miserable. 

Fer. {Harshly.) Put on your spectacles. 

Gov. I will. {He takes out his spectacles ; while he rubs 



42 THE soldier's daughter. 

the glasses with his handkerchief, the Widow, smothering 
a laugh, turns %ip- the stage ; F. Heartall advances and 
takes her jplacc — the Governor puts on his spectacles, and 
turning to look at the Widow, sees F. Heartall.) Why, 
sirrah ! — are you not a villain ? confess yourself a scound- 
rel. You would unite yourself to a profess'd termagant, 
whose tongue has already sent to an early grave, a loving 
husband — and thus embitter all your future days : a Xan- 
tippe — {Frank Heartall, hurt at the Governor's 7-eproaches, 
turns uj) the stage, and Mrs. Malfort comes into his place, 
as if she meant to mediate for him.) An angel ! — madam, 
I beg a million of pardons — {F. Heartall comes doivn on 
the other side, the Widoio between him and the Governor, 
%oho turns that way, supposing F. Heartall next him.) A 
rascal ! to fix his affections on a devil incarnate — A che- 
rub ! by all that's heavenly ! {Ferret retires, and sits at 
L.H. side tfthe table.) 

Wid. {Aside to F. Heartall.) Oh, I see — I see it all 
BOW ! I have caught his humour, and shall have some 
sport with him. {Aloud.) Did I ever tell you that story, 
my dear madam, of ray father, Colonel Woodley ? 

Gov. What, a story about Jack ? Come, let us hear it. 
Wid. It is a Bengal story, sir ; a great way off. 
Gov. So much the better ; now for it. 
Wid. Well, sir, thus it was. One summer's evening, 
after a hard day's march over burning sands, and expan- 
sive wilds — fatigued and weary, the Colonel and his hungry 
regiment, Avith all their little train of tired women and poor 
children, faint and exhausted, 'spied the mansion of a cer- 
tain Governor. 

Gov. This is a good one — go on — ha, ha, ha ! — Poor 
Jack ! 

Wid. The Colonel dispatched one of his sergeants to 
say that Woodley and his hungry soldiers rested on their 
arms at the Govei'nor's gate. "What, Jack?" said the 
Governor — 

Gov. " Honest Jack ?" §aid the Governor — " worthy 
Jack?" 

Wid. " Jack and his soldiers hungry ?" said the Gover- 
nor. " Yes, please your honor," said the Serjeant, " and 
their wives and children too." " I am glad of it, for here 
is plenty ; let the rogues come in," said the Governor : — 



K THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 43 

" my delight is to see the hungry feed, and shield from 
inclemency the limbs of the naked," — 

Gov. Said the Governor : the little drummers mustered 
up all the strength they had left, and beat up such a tan- 
tarara ! while the poor soldiers, and the women, shouted 
till my plantation echoed again ! 

Wid. Yours, sir ? {Pretending surprise.) 

Frank H. Yours, uncle ? 

Gov. Yes, mine, you dog ! I marched down the avenue 
to usher them in : the women fell upon their knees, poor 
things, and prayed, and blessed me as they entered ; their 
parched lips could scarcely give vent to the feehngs of 
their hearts, but their streaming eyes spoke volumes of 
thanksgiving. 

Wid. {To Mrs. Malfort.) Now, observe. {Aloud.) Aye, 
sir ; but the Serjeant's wife ! 

Gov. Ay, that was the best of all — Poor soul ! — she was 
sinking beneath the weight of two fine children ; I just 
hobbled up time enough to catch her falling burden, and 
bore the little chubby rogues triumphantly in my arms ! 
They look'd delighted at each other, played with my hair, 
kissed my forehead, and, with their little fat fingers wiped 
the tears that fell from my old eyes as large as hailstones. 
My myrmidons fed, and drank, and laughed, and sang, — 
talked their little wars and battles over — then slept ; and 
next day set freshly forward on their march, rattling their 
drums, blowing their cheerful fifes, with loud huzzas of 
gratitude to the donor of their feast. {They turn up the 
stage.) 

Fer. {Coming forimard, l. h.) This Bengal story has 
warmed the old fool's heart, and they may now mould the 
driveller to what shape they please. I will leave him to 
his fate ; and trust to occurrences for the completion of 
my purposes. \_Exit Ferret, l.k., unobserved. 

{Governor, Sfc. cotyie doivn.) 

Frank H. And now, my dear uncle, what new offence 
have" I committed ? — Any more murders come out ? — • 
Children strangled, or idiots defrauded of their property ? 

Gov. Are you not going to marry, a vixen ? 

Frank H. Guilty. I would marry if I could. 

Gov. "What ! a vixen ? 



44 THE soldier's daughter. 

Frank H. [Looldng at the Widow.') I think not : but 
there 1 must run my chance, as my father did before me. 

Gov. Your father ? he married a celestial being — a 
seraph ! Whom would you marry ? [Frank H. takes the 
Widoiv by the hand., and points to her.) A seraph, too ! 
"Will you have him, madam ? Will you take pity on the 
scoundrel ? — will you — will you ? The rogue loves you ; 
I am sure he does ; he has a good fortune, and shall have 
more when I die. 

Frank H. Now, sir, you are yourself: you are again 
my kind, dear uncle. ( Going to embrace him., the Governor 
avoids it.) 

Gov. It's a lie ! I had forgot ; don't have him ; he 
don't deserve you ! I am not your dear uncle. I will be 
uncle to no villain ; that takes the advantage of a poor 
gentleman's distress, to make dishonorable advances to his 
afflicted wife. 

Wid. Heavens ! — 

Gov. But where is this offended female ? I must heal 
this breach ; and by my bounty prove there is at least one 
good heart in my family. 

Mrs. M. That is already proved — incontestibly proved 
by 3'our injured nephew. 

iVid. How ? 

Mrs. M. In the very moment of direst calamity, this 
gentleman entered by chance our mansion of despair ; he 
saw my grief, perceived my husband's agony, his heart 
melted, and his eyes overflowed ; he bounteously relieved 
our wants— concealing even where our thanks should rest, 
and made my child the agent of his munificence. 

Gov. I am his uncle ! ^ 

Wid. This is a noble-hearted fellow ! {Aside.) — {To F. 
Heartall.) I beg your pardon, sir, I was taught to think 
differently of you. Come, Governor, let us all be friends, 
will you? will you? {Wheedling and imitating.) Ah! I 
wish my father was alive, to back my suit ! 

Gov. Your father ? let me look at you ; yon are Jack 
Woodley's daughter. {Smiling on her.) I lov'd your 
father—- 

Wid. Yes ; and you will love my. father's daughter, 
when you know me better. 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER.. 45 

Gov. Shall I'? Eh! 

Wid. To be sure you will ; nay, you must, in common 
gratitude' for I love an old bachelor, in my heart. 

Gov. That's more than I do. 

V/id. Ah ! I should like to spend a long winter's even- 
ing with you, and talk over your old conquests ; the women 
that died on your account, and the unfortunate damsels 
that you betraj'-ed. 0, you look like a seducer ! 

Gov. Humph ! You are a rogue — a pretty rogue — an 
arch little villain. 

Mrs. M. If ever two hearts were designed by Provi- 
dence to make each other supremel}^ blest, surely, sir, it is 
your generous nephew and this benevolent lady. 

Gov. What you, too ? (7b Mrs. M.) Give me your 
hands ! Must I forgive the rascal ? — must I girls ? — shall 
I lasses ? 

Wid. Forgive, sir ? — ^you have failed in proof; you have 
lost your cause ; you are nonsuited ! 

Frank H. Yes, uncle, a flaw in the indictment ! 

Gov. Then you shall have a new trial, you rogue ! But 
zounds ! if these are your advocates, I shall give up the 
contention : against such pleaders, justice should be deaf 
as well as blind. Mercy on me ! when I look on these 
creatures' faces, and hear the music of their tongues, I am 
astonished that there can remain on the earth's habitable 
surface, so helpless a creature as an old bachelor. 

Malfok-t enters., l.h., greatly agitoMd ; a letter in his 
hand. 

Malf. Madam — I have to solicit your pardon, for thus 
abruptly breaking in among your friends ; but a circum- 
stance has occurred that — • 

Mrs. M. ( Under the impression of surprise and uneasi- 
ness, introducing him.) Madam, my husband, Mr. Mal- 
fort— 

Wid. Sir, I am happy to see you, pray walk in. 

\_Exit, l.h. 

Malf. (Boiving.) Madam, I — {To F. Heartall, who is 
II.H.) Sir, the contents of this letter — concern you : — and 
lest the warmth and agitation of my mind should urge me 



46 THE soldier's daughter. 

on to acts of sudden desperation — I beseech you, read it — 
and declare how you think a man of honor ought to act 
under circumstances so repulsive to his feehngs ? ( Gives 
F. Heartall the letter.^ 

Frank H. {Reads.) Si?-, — Under the deep disguise of af- 
fected benevolence, young Heartall has desig)is of an infa- 
mous nature upon your ivife. If your distresses have so 
absorbed your feelings, that you can become a tame laitness 
of your oivn dishonor, you %vill of course hvoe no objection 
to his frequent visits to the house you lodge in — where he 
has nom established a footing, under pretence of p>nying his 
addresses to a silly young ividoiv, from the country — tvlio 
tvants knoivledge of the ivorld, to penetrate the dejJth of his 
designs. I know the tnan — therefore take this timely hint, 
from a sincere, though corticealed, friend. 

Mrs. M. Merciful heavens ! — v^'hat can this mean ? 

Malf {During the reading of the letter , fixes his eyes 
upon F. Heartall., %vho appears agitated, distressed, and 
indignant.) Sir ; — {As if lie toaited for Frank HeartalVs 
answer.) 

Frank H. Really, sir, — this extraordinary— business — 
is — a — 

Malf. Before I proceed, sir, to further question — this 
folded paper contains the bill which your pretended bene- 
volence would have applied to the relief of my distresses ; 
take it, sir, — it is yours. {Gives a paper.) You cannot, I 
perceive, deny the foul charge alleged against you : that 
you do not endeavor to extenuate it by false asseveration, 
I applaud you for — and although I cannot but doubt the 
courage of him, who, with cold and deliberate villany, can 
wear the mask of charity to hide adulterous seduction, and 
meanly assume the garb of munificence to cover purposes 
detestable and base, I shall expect such ample retribution, 
as insulted pride and injured honor should demand. 

Frank H Mr. Malfort, I am at length recovered from 
my confusion and astonishment : this false and scandalous, 
aspersion causes no other impulse in my mind, than that of 
sorrow and regret, that any of heaven's creatures can be 
so lost to feeling and humanity as the author of this black 
scroll. Had I been wretch enough to perpetrate the 
wrong you charge me with, I hope I should be coward 
enough not to defend it — nor oppose a pistol against that 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 47 

man's head, whose heart I had already wounded. Before 
this company, farther explanation is unnecessary : — I am 
to be found, sir, whenever it shall suit you. 

[ Crosses, and exit, l.h. 

{Malfort loalks about in great agitation.) 

Mrs. M. Henry ! — what shall I say ? — can you believe 
me base ? — 

Malf. Oh ! that Providence would snatch from the earth 
a wretch torn with conflicting passions, and suffering 
under all the pangs of penury, and approaching misery ! 

Gov. {0)1 L.H.) My heart tells me that my boy is inno- 
cent ! The rogue is wild — the dog is ungovernable — but 
he has a heart : I feel it in my own, warm as blood can 
make it. I could sometimes kill the villain myself — but 
that I know he has a heart ! And now I have looked 
"upon his honest face, and will stake my life upon 'his 
honor ! 

Malf. 'Tis a world of error, sir, — stake your life on no 
man's honor, nor rest your faith on woman's virtue ! All, 
all is false, deceiving, treacherous, and subtle. ( Croscts to 
L.H.) 0, agony of thought ! Destruction pours her mea- 
sureless weight of woes upon my head ! Where is now 
my solace ? Domestic confidence is fled ; my home is hell 
— suspicion darts her scorpion stings into my brain, and all 
is madness, frenzy, and despair ! {Exit Malfort, l.h. 

Mrs. M, Henry — my husband ! 
{Following him, she is nearly fainting : ivhen the "Widow 
enters, l.h., and prevents her falling.) 

Wid. Nay, madam — stay, I beseech you, stay, — this 
sudden shock bears heavy on your spirits : — whither would 
you go ? 

Mrs. M. Alas ! I know not, madam ! I would seek my 
husband — I would calm his mind — I would pour consola- 
tion on his sorrows — 

Wid. With your leave, sir, we will retire : and devise 
such means as shall restore Mr. Malfort to peace and 
comfort. 

Gov. Let Jack Woodley's daughter command old 
Heartall as she will : {To Mrs. Malfort.) Come — cheer up, 
madam ! while the old Governor can command a rupee, 



» 



48 THE soldier's daughter. 

by heaven neither you nor yours shall ever want a part of 
it : — then set her spirits atloat — cheer her up, my lively 
widow ! 

Wid. You hear, madam, you hear the Governor's 
commands — no disobedience of orders — I am a soldier's 
daughter, and used to discipline. 

" Mrs. M. I am already animated by your words : — 
" but my gratitude masters my utterance ; let my tears, 
" therefore, speak what my tongue cannot. 

" Wid. Come, madam, — we'll soon dry your tears, and 
" set your tongue in motion. I wish to exhilarate the 
" spirits of my hearers, not depress them : I can laugh at 
" folly, pity depravity, scorn knaver}'', and detest villany ! 
" The merry heart has not leisure to be vicious ; and as 
" the smile that marks a cheerful countenance is easily 
" discerned from the fawning grin of hypocrisy, I am in- 
" fallible in the choice of my friends, and all is laugh 
" around me. 

" Gov. Brava ! Bravissima ! my charming widow. 

lExeunt, l.h. 



END OF ACT III. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — A Street in London. 

Enter Charles Woodley and Thomas, r.h. {with a 
parcel.) 

Cha. Thomas ! 

The. Sir. 

Cha. Step to the St. James's Hotel, and desire Osborne 
to get ready apartments for me directly ; I have a call or 
two to make, and shall be there presently. • 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 49 

Tho. Very well, your honor. But where shall I deliver 
this packet for your sister, sir ? There is no direction on 
it, further than her name. 

Clia. Plague take it ! 1 don't know what we -are to do in 
that case, for I have positively lost her address. Hark'ee, 
Thomas, I have it. You must call at the Stock Exchange, 
and inquire where Mr. Ferret lives — any body there will 
tell you ; he is one of my late brother-in-law's executors, 
and will inform you where my sister, Mrs. Cheerly, is to 
be found : be particular in taking her address, and bring 
it with you to the hotel. 

Tho. I shall, sir. [Exit^ l.h. 

Cha. I long to see the giddy romp ! She has been both 
a wife and a widow since we parted ; but, if I can trace 
her disposition from her letters, she is still lively and un- 
changed. Certainly she was formed in nature's merriest 
mood ; 'for I never yet saw her uneasy or dejected. 

Enter Frank Heartall, l. h. ; crossing the stage hastily. 

Eh ! whom have we here ? What, Frank Heartall ! — an 
old acquaintance, faith ! I suppose I am grown quite out 
of his knowledge. ( Goes up to F. Heartall.) Pray, sir, 
what is't o'clock ? in travehng I neglected winding my 
watch. {Taking out Ids loatch.) 

Frank H. Sir, by me — {Looking at his watch — ihen at 
Charles.) It is now exactly — ^its monstrous like him, if he 
was not so tall. {Aside.) 

Cha. {Looking in Heartall\ fcice., and holding his key 
to his tvatch, as if to set it.) What hour did you say, sir ? 

Frank H. { To himself. ) Six : — ^yes — it must be — six — 
years since we met. 

Cha.,. Six ! my dear sir, it is impossible : it can scarcely 
be three yet. 

Frank iJ. ! I beg j^our pardon, sir. I say, Charles — 

Cha. But I beg your pardon — and I say, Frank — 

Frank H. It is above six years, since we both left old 
Gradus, at Westminster. 

Cha. Is it ? — Heartall. 

Frank H. It is. — Woodley — damme, I'm right ! 

Cha. And so am I : ha, ha ! {Shaking hands affec- 
tionately.) I knew you at the first glimpse ; but my 



50 THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 

marchings and counter-marchings have woi-n me out of the 
knowledge of my nearest acquaintance. 

Frank H. I have often thought of you, upon my soul, 
and reflected frequently with pleasure upon our little 
youthful sahies: the " hair-breadth 'scapes" that we have 
had. I have paid for many of your pranks, my boy. 

Cha. You certainly were a most unfortunate youth — 
always in some scrape — ha, ha, ha ! 

Frank H. It sticks to me still, Chai'les. My old luck : 
I never shall get rid of it. 

Cha. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Frank H. Yes ; you may laugh — but it is truth, upon 
my soul. 

Cha. The little harmless frolics of your youth, Frank, 
should serve us for laughter in our maturer days. But 
what is the matter now ? Have j^ou lost your youthful 
spirits ? or is there, really, any thing that can possibly 
give yovi serious concern ? 

Frank H. Yes, Charles : I'm in for it again. 

Cha. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Frank H. Don't laugh — don't, Charles. Upon my soul, 
I am a wretched fellow. [Charles luughs.) What! you 
will laugh ? 

Cha. Why, who the devil can help laughing ? — to hear 
a fellow like j^ou, basking in the sunshine of a splendid 
fortune ; that fortune every hour in a state of continued 
accumulation ; an old rich uncle, that will leave you every 
shining ; living in luxury and ease, in the veiy centre of 
your friends and connexions ; the treasures of all parts of 
the habitable earth pouring in upon you ; and hear you 
talk of wretchedness ! Zounds 1 it would make a stoic 
laugh — ha, ha, ha ! 

Frank H. Yes : this is all very fine ! 

Cha. It is all very true, however. 

Frank H. So it is, Charles : and yet I am a wretched 
fellow ! 

Cha. Not in love, I hope I 

Frank H. Over head and ears ! — but that's not the 
worst of it. 

Cha. No ! — Ha, ha, ha ! — then you are a miserable 
•fellow, sure enough. Ha, ha, ha ! — Who is the lady, 
Frank ? 

t 



THE soldier's daughter. 51 

Frank H. An angel ! 

Cha. Oh, that of course ! Do I know her ? 

Frank H. No ; this is her first visit to London. 

Cha. Indeed ? 

Frarik H. Yes : she is a widow. 

Cha. The devil she is f and her name ? 

Frank H. Cheerley. 

Cha. {Aside.) My mad-cap sister, by heaven ! 

Frank li. Such a woman, Charles — uniting truth, vir- 
tue, sense, with all the livelier gi-aces of her sex ! 

Cha. Where does she live, Frank ? You must intro- 
duce me. 

Frank H. No, Charles, you must excuse me there : — 
Ha, ha, ha ! — the truth is, I can't introduce you, for I am 
in disgrace there myself 

Cha. Ay ! — {Forgetting himself.) You surely have not 
presumed to — {RecoUecthig.) I mean, — what haye you 
done to incur her displeasure ? 

Frank H. Nothing. 

Cha. If she be the creature you describe, she cannot 
be so ridiculously capricious as to take offence at nothing. 

Frank H. I don't say that she is offended. Nay- I live 
in hopes to the contrary. But somehow or other — I have 
been unfortunately betrayed, it seems, into the perpetra- 
tion of a benevolent action ; and, because I will not. allow 
that I have committed that wicked deed through the 
worst of motives, namely, the seduction of a suffering, vir- 
tuous wife — I, at this very period, am under momentary 
expectation of having my throat cut — by an offended 
husband. 

Cha. Ha, ha, ha ! Upon my soul, Frank, this is one of 
your extraordinary scrapes, sure enough ! But come, you 
must introduce me to your widow. 

Frank H. No, no, Charles ; I know better, believe me. 

Cha. I must see her, Frank. By all the powers of af- 
fection, I love her already. 

Frank H. Pooh ! pooh ! nonsense — You don't — 

Cha. I do, by Jupiter. Ha, ha, ha ! what young fellow 
could avoid it, tliat had but heard your description of the 
charming creature ? 

Frank H. Did I describe her so warmly ? 

Cha. Did yoii ! Zounds ! you have set my imagination 



S2 THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 

in a blaze ! I long to see her, and must and will find her 
out ! 

Frank H. No — you won't — Ha, ha, ha ! 

Cha. Yes, I will — Ha, ha, ha ! 

Enter Timothy, r.h. {Crossing the stage.) 

Frank H. Tim ! Timothy ! Where are you hurrying, 
my old boy ? 

Tim. {Staring.) Hey ! Sir ! Did you speak to me ? 
Lord ! I ask pardon, sir — as the man in the play says, 
" my grief was blind, and did not see you." Heigho ! 

Frank H. Nay, but communicate, Timothy ; what is 
the matter ? Nothing serious, I hope 1 

Tim. Yes, sir — serious — very serious — it must be seri- 
ous, for it makes me laugh ; he, he, he ! — Heigho ! 

Frank II. Tim ; it must be serious, indeed, if j^ou smile ! 
but I am afraid it must be a general calamity, a universal 
extermination — for you absolutely laughed. 

Tim. Did I ? Lord, lord ! how misfortunes unbend 
the mind ! Laugh ? I didn't mean it : I should not have 
smiled, but for the dreadful distress of two near relations, 
that I have just now left behind me at the door of a 
prison. 

Cha. Ha, ha, ha ! what the devil does he mean ? 

Frank II. Hush ! let him alone. Relations of j'ours in 
a prison ? — How ? — Eor what, Timothy ? 

Tim. Suspicion of debt. Poor things ! but if they will 
go bail for distressed famihes, and bind themselves for 
such enormous sums, they must expect no better. 

Frank H. A prison ! And are they really related to 
3^ou, Timothy ? 

Tim. Yes, sir, almost ; one is my brother, and the other 
is my old aunt. 

Frayik H. And engaged themselves for enormous sums, 
— I am sorry for it. 

Tim. I knew you would, sir : — fifteen pounds seven is 
a serious concern. 

Both. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Frank H. Fifteen pounds ! for shame, Timothy — pay 
it ; pay it, Timothy ; and give them their freedom. 

Tim. Pay it ? Hadn't I better discharge. the national 



THE SOLDIER S DAtTGHTEIl. 58 

debt at the same time ; bid for the loan ; or buy up the 
next lottery ? I have had a cursed quarrel as I came 
along, too ; that was the reason that I didn't know you at 
first. 

Cha. A quarrel, sir ? With whom ? 

Tim. With myself, to be sure : — " Tim," said I to my- 
self, " Ask your master : he'll lend you the cash in a 
moment." " I know that," says I to Tim, " and that is 
the reason I won't ask it." Then Tim says, with great 
feeling, " Will you let your relations rot in a prison 1 " 
Says I, — " Mr. Tim ; I have given all I could rap and 
rend to those relations, and have not left a farthing to bless 
myself with : what can I do more ?" — " But you shall do 
more !" Well, one word brought on another, between 
myself and me : and, in my passion, as I passed through 
St. Martin's Court, I ran my head full-butt into the 
stomach of an old clothesman ; tumbled him and myself 
over a wheel-barrow ; and getting up, awoke, as I thought, 
out of the strangest dream I ever had in my life. 

Frank H. Take this note ; change it; release your rela- 
tions ; and with the remainder of twenty pounds, make 
them as comfortable as you can. 

Thn. Sir ! Mr. Frank ! — don't joke ! — I can't laugh — 
I would speak, sir, but — I burn all over — I shall blaze 
presently : — No ; my eyes are sending a couple of engines 
to my relief: — pump away — pump away — you may pre- 
vent a conflagration. [Exit, l.h. 

Frank H. Poor Timothy ! his silence was more eloquent 
than words. 

Cha. Well, adieu, Frank, for the present. {Crosses to 
L.H.) I have business ; but shall easily find you — if I miss 
seeing you at the widow's. 

Frank H. Seeing me at the widow's ? that's very well, 
Charles : but I'll take care to prevent that. 

Cha. And I to further it. Rely upon it, I shall meet 
you there. 

Frank H. And if you do, by heaven, I'll cut your 
throat ! 

Cha. No, you won't : your description has set me on 
fire, you rogue ! It is merely in friendship to you that I 
visit your widow — to prevent you from getting into 
another scrape. 



54 THE soldier's daughter. 

Frank H. A scrape ! what scrape ? 
Clia. The worst of scrapes — matrimony. 

\Exeunt^ Charles l.h., Frank, r.h. 



" SCENE n.—Malforfs Lodgings. 

" Enter the Widow and Mr. and Mrs. Malfort, r. h. 

*' Wid. I am happy, my dear Mr. Malfort, that reason 
" once more resumes her seat ; and now^ let us drop this 
" sombre subject, I beseech you. Pray, what would you 
" advise me to do with this extraordinary lover of mine ? 
" He really talks as if he was in earnest ; as if he was 
" desperate enough to marry ! 

" Mrs. M. That he loves you, I believe, admits not of 
" a question. 

" Ma/f. And that he w^ould instantly give the most un- 
" equivocal assurance of his passion, is as palpable. 

" Wid. Oh, yes ; — I believe the creature is serious 
" eneugh : but he is charged on all sides with various 
" crimes and enormities. You certainly would not ad- 
" vise me to take a culprit to my heart ? 

" Enter Mrs. Townly, l. h. 

" Mrs. T. {To the Widoio.) There is a young gentleman 
" below, madam, who earnestly desires to see you. 
. » Wid. Mr. Heartall ? 

" Mrs. T. No, madam, an officer ; he would have fol- 
" lowed me up stairs -without ceremony, but I told him 
" you were not in your own apartments. 

" Wid. Where is he ? 

" Mrs. T. In the little parlour, madam. 

" Wid. I'll wait on him. [Exit, Mrs. Tozvnly, l.h.] 
" Will you excuse me for a moment ? {Mrs. Malfort curt- 
" sies.) An officer ! bless me, who can it be ? No mat- 
" ter ! 1 am a soldier's daughter, and these sons of scarlet 
" have no terrors for me ! — from my earliest day I have 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 55 

" been taught to love, to honor, and respect them ; and 
" when I read, or hear, that an accomplished woman has 
*' bestowed her hand and fortune on a brave and honest 
" soldier, I feel she has done her duty ; and, like a true 
" patriot, paid her portion of a nation's gratitude. 

" [JExit, L.H. 

" Mrs. M. "Well, my Henry, — are not now j^our sus- 
" picions of Heartall removed ? 

" Malf. I fain would think so : — I wish to banish all ill 
" thoughts of that man ; and press him to my bosom, as 
" my friend, my j)reserver ! 

" Re-enter Mrs. Townly, l. h. 

" Mrs. T. Mr. Ferret, sir, wishes to speak a word 
" with you. 

" Malf. Ferret ? I have some faint recollection of such 
" a name, that was my father's friend : — What can this 
" mean ? — I'll wait upon him. ^Exit, Mrs. Toionly^ l.h.] 
" Come, my Harriet ! cheerly, my love ! I trust, misfor- 
" tune lags in pace, and smiling competence will shortly 
" overtake her. \_Exeuntj l.h. 



SCENE III. — The Widoiv^s Apartments. 
Enter the JVidoiv, iaiighing, and Charles Woodley, 

R.H. 

Cha. I knew I should surprise you : I thei'efore avoided 
writing, or giving you the smallest information of my arri- 
val in England. But I perceive marriage has not tamed 
you, nor widowhood dejected your spirits : you are still 
the same giddy, lovely, generous madcap. 

Wid. Exactly, Charles. 

Cha. But no mischief in the wind, I hope ? No new 
conquest meditated ? 

Wid. No : — nothing new ; — the mischief is already 
done ! 

Cha. Indeed ! 



56 THE soldier's daughter. 

Wid. Yes, indeed : — I am afraid I am gone again. 

Cha. AVhat — iTiarried again ? 

Wid. No, not yet : — Charles — will you give me leave to 
ask a question ? 

Cha. Certainly. 

Wid. Have you ever been in action 1 

Cha. In action ! how do you mean ? 

Wid. Pooh ! You have not been so long a soldier 
without some fighting, I suppose ? 

Cha. No, faith : — I have had my share of danger, and 
have fortunately escaped Avith unfractured bones. 

Wid. Then you may form some idea of my situation. 
Befoi-e the action, a general's anxiety must be dreadful — 
so is mine ! Come — as a soldier's daughter, I'll state the 
case m your own way : — We will suppose my heart a 
citadel, a remarkably strong fortress — its outworks, in my 
mind, as impenetrable as the rock of Gibraltar. Now, an 
excellent commander, and an able engineer, sits down 
before this well-defended garrison ; he pours in shells of 
flattery, which waste themselves in the air, and do no 
farther mischief He then artfully dispatches two of his 
aid-de-camps, in the disguise of charity and benevolence, 
to sap the foundation, and lay a train for the demolition of 
the garrison ; which train, to his own confusion, hypocrisy 
blows up, and leaves the fortress still besieged, but not 
surrendered. 

Cha. But, I suppose, you mean to surrender — at dis- 
cretion. 

Wid. No : capitulate — upon honorable terms. 

Cha. Bravo, sister ! You are an excellent soldier ! — 
But, who is this formidable foe ? Can I find his name in 
the army-list ? 

Wid. No : in the London Directory more likely. 

Cha. What ? A m.erchant ? 

Wid. I believe so : the man deals in indigo, cotton, 
rice, coffee, and brown sugar. 

Cha. Indeed ! and his name ? 

Wid. {With an arch laugh.) Ay! — there you are 
puzzled ! Now, what's his name ? 

-, Cha. His name ? — wh}^ — Francis Heartall, is a good 
name in the city. 

Wid. Ah, lud a mercy ! Why, Charles ! have you 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 57 

been among the gipsies ? How long since you commenced 
diviner ? You are not the seventh son of a seventh son ? 

Cha. No — -I am the son of your father ; and, without 
the gift of divination, can foresee you wish to make Frank 
Heartall my brother. 

Wid. No, no, Charles ; there are enough of the family 
already. 

Cha. Yes : and if there are not a great many more, it 
will not be your fault, sister ! Ha, ha, ha ! 

Wid. Monster! but let this silence you at once. I have 
a — sort of — ^floating idea, that I like this ^Heartall : but 
how it has come to your knowledge, brother-soldier, is 
beyond my shallow comprehension. 

Cha. Know then, sister, that Heartall was the earliest 
friend of my youth ; I love the fellow — 

Wid. So do I — it is a family failing. 

Cha. When boys, we were school-fellows, class-fellows, 
play-fellows ; I was partner in his pranks, fellow- sufferer 
in his disgrace, co-mate in mischief; we triumphed in each 
other's pleasures, and mourned together our little imagi- 
nary distresses. 

Wid. It is all over then : I must make you brothers, 
you love one another so well. You will have it so : its 
all your doing ! 

Cha. Ingenuous sister ! I could hug you to my heart. 
A noble-minded fellow loves you ; you feel he merits your 
affection, and scorn the little petty arts that female folly 
too often practices to lead in slow captivity a worthy heart, 
for the pleasure of sacrificing it at the shrine of vanity. 

Wid. Very true. But I do not mean to give practical 
lessons to flirts or coquettes ; w^ho, by the bye, are a very 
useful race of people in their way — so many fools and cox- 
combs could never be managed without them. No, — if I 
do marry the grocer, 'tis merely to oblige you. 

Enter George, l. h. 

Geo. Mr. Heartall, madam, if you are at leisure. 
Wid. Shew him up. \^Exit George, l.h. 

Cha. Ha, ha, ha ! — We shall have the devil to pay, 
presently : — Heartall does not know me as your brother. 
Wid. How ? — is it possible ? 



68 THE soldier's daughteu. 

Cha. I met him just as I arrived ; wormed his secret 
from him, and swore I would find you out. My presence 
here will astonish him ! he will suppose me his I'ival, 
and — Hush ! — he's here ! {Retires up the stage.) 

Enter Frank Heartall, l.h. 

Frank H. Madam, I am come to apologize for my 
abrupt departure from your apartments this morning ; 
and to offer such conviction of the falsehood of the charge 
against me, as — 

Wid. I entreat you will not take the trouble to mention 
it : pray think no more of it. ( Charles coming for loard on 
the opposite side.) Give me leave to introduce a very par- 
ticular friend of mine. 

Cha. ( Going to him!) Frank ! — Frank Heartall ! — I am 
overjoyed to meet you here. 

Frank' H. Excuse me — Charles — you have all the joy 
to yourself 

Wid. This gentleman tells' me, sir, that you and he are 
very old acquaintance. 

Frank H. Yes, ma'am, very old. 

Cha. Ha, ha, ha ! — yes, ma'am, very old indeed ! — hey ! 
Frank ? 

Frank H. Yes, Charles — so old — that one of us must 
so'sn die ! 

Cha. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Wid. Heaven forbid ! I hope you will both live to be 
right-reverend grey-headed old gentlemen. 

Frank H. iS'o, ma'am, we can't both hve to be grey- 
headed old gentlemen ; one of us may, perhaps. 

Cha. Ha, ha, ha ! — What the devil is the matter, Frank ? 
Got into another scrape ?■ 

Frank H. A damn'd one ! Hark you, Charles — a 
word .with you. How did you find that lady out ? 

Cha. By your description — every body knew it ! 

Frank H. Did they ! Do you mean to pay your ad- 
dresses to her ? 

Cha. A blunt question ! 

Frank H. It is an honest one. Do you love her ? 

Cha. By heaven, I do ! and would risk my hfe to secure 
her felicity. 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 59 

Frank H. I loved her first 

Cha. That I deny. 

Frank li. You dare not, Charles. I, too, have a life 
already risked ; it is in her keeping : — if she is yours, your 
pistols will be unnecessary ; you take my life, when you 
take her ! ( Crosses to centre.) 

Wid. Ha, ha, ha ! 

{F. Heartall fidgetting^ and gomg %vp to the Widow -j 
Charles and the Widoto stifle a laugh.) 

Frank H. Madam, I ask your pardon ; I believe I was 
born to torment you : I wish I had never seen you ! But 
pray, madam; don't laugh, now — do — you — love — this 
gentleman ? 

Wid. From my heart and soul. 

Frank H. Death ! — tortures ! — hell ! — -jealousy ! — dam- 
nation ■! — One of us must die ! ( Going out, the Widoto gets 
iettveen him and the door, and jyr events him.) Very well, 
ma'am ; very well ! {Going up to Cho.rles.) You are a 
traitor, Charles. 

Cha. {Coolly.) Hard words, Frank ! 

Frank H. A false friend ! 

Cha. Worse and worse. 

Frank H. I could almost call you — villain ! 

Cha. Now you make progress. 

Frank H. I lov'd yo\x like a brother ! 

Cha. You did — I own it. 

Frank H. Are you not unworthy of that name ? 

Clta. Ask my sister. 

Frank H. Who ! — Are you sister to — 

Wid. Ask my brother. 

Frank H. Madam ! — Charles !— Eh !— What !— I am 
bewildered ! Tell me ! — are you really brother to this 
lady ? 

Wid. To be sure he is — ha, ha, ha ! — Don't you remem- 
ber old Jack Woodley's daughter ? — Ha, ha, ha ! 

Frank H. {Striking his forehead.) fool ! dolt ! stupid 
idiot ! By heaven, the circumstance never once entered 
my head ! — Charles ! Madam ! — Can you forgive me ? — 
Ha, ha, ha ! Zounds ! I shall go mad ! — Ha, ha, ha ! — 
Tol, lol, lol ! — I am sure I shall go mad ! {Sings and 
dances.) 

Wid. Did you ever see siich a whirligig ?— Ha, ]iaj ha ! 



^>0 THE soldier's DAUGHTER, 

Cha. A child's top, rather, that requires lashing to keep 
it up. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Frank H. Lash away ! I deserve it richly. But now 
I have almost recovered my senses, will you both honor 
me with your company to my old uncle's : my carriage is 
at the door — for I am now determined to clear up all 
mysteries, either to my confusion, or the detection of a 
wanton and hypocritical fiend ! 

Wid. Dare I venture myself with this madman, 
Charles ? Won't he bite, think you ? 

Clia. Not unless the paroxysm returns ; in that case, 
I'll not answer for him . 

Wid. Then I'll summon up all the resolution I can 
muster, and attend you to the (xovernor's without delay. 

Frank 11. Will you ! Then I shall go mad, indeed ! 
Zounds ! I am half frantic already ! — I could run up a 
steeple, jump down a coal-pit, put St. Paul's in my pocket, 
and make a walking-stick of the monument ! Huzza, 
huzza ! — She is single still, Charles is her brother, and 
Frank Heartall may yet be a happy fellow I 

\^He hurries them off., l.h 



END OF ACT IV. 



ACT V. 



" SCENE \.—Malf art's Lodgings. 
" Enter Mrs. Malfort, Malfort, and Ferret, l. h. 

" Malf. This way, sir, pray walk in ; will you please 
"to sit? 

" Fer. I thank you, sir. I trust you will pardon the in- 
" trusion of a plain blunt fellow; not drawn hither to satisfy 



THE soldier's daughter. 61 

" an idle curiosity, to peep into the habitalions of the poor, 
" and piyingly observe how those that once were prosper- 
" ous can endure adversity. 

" Malf. {Promlly.) Sir ! 

" Fer. .T-o deal plainly with you, sir, I know that you 
" are ruined ; a bankrupt ; your property divided among 
" your creditors ; all done fairly and openly — like a man 
" of true integrity — an honest bankrupt ! 

" Malf. AVell, sir, 1 claim no merit from that conduct : 
" the rules that were made to protect, the laws that have 
" been wisely legislated to uphold, with honor, the honest 
" dignity of trade, should never be violated in a commer- 
' 'cial nation. 

" Fe?-. That's nobly spoken, sir ; — your sentiments ac- 
" cord with my own, and I applaud you for them ! Your 
" father, I suppose, is no more ; we were friends, intimate 
" friends, — before his last voyage to the Indies ; , but, 
" perhaps, he lives — You, doubtless, can inform me. 

" Malf. {Much affected.) Oh ! 

" Mrs. M. {Aside.) heavens ! He has touched upor. 
" a subject that is sure to harrow up his very soul, awak- 
" ing eveiy tender, every filial sensation ! 

'■'■Fer. {Not seeming to perceive Malf or th distress.) 
" Your father was a worthy man — an honest man — a man 
" that — {Ma fort greatly agitated.) 1 entreat your pardon, 
" sir ! — Perhaps I should not have named your father ; it 
" disturbs you. 

"■ Maf. {With strong emotio7i.) It does indeed ! Bank- 
" ruptcy, penury, and approaching wretchedness, with all 
" their dreadful train of consequences, I can arm myself 
" with patience to endure: but, torn with suspense, tortured 
" with perplexing doubts and fears — now whispering that 
" a prosperous father lives ; and npw presenting him, sur- 
" rounded by strangers, on the bed of death, without an 
" affectionate son to receive his blessing, close his eyes, 
" or pay the last sad honors to his loved remains. 

" Fer. { With affected concern.) Aye — his wealth, too, 
" perhaps devolving to some intereiSted man, who, to secure 
" the immense property your father must have left, makes 
" no strict inquiries after his lost heir. It is a danm'd bad 
" world : there are few to be depended on. 

" Malf Few indeed ! Yet, sir, amongst that few I have 



62 THE soldier's daughter. 

" found some, that came like ministering cberubims to my 
*' relief, to chase afflicting- melancholy from my breast, and 
" cheer my mourning wife, my sufiering little one. 

" Mrs. M. Among such motives, sir, do j'ou not think 
" humanity may sometimes hold a place ? 

" Malf. Or benevolence urge the execution of a noble act? 

" Fer. Aye, — humanit}'' and benevolence sound loftily : 

*' but real benefits are quietly bestowed, without many 

" words on either side; as thus — I give — and you take ! — 

" {Offering a paper.) 

*' Malf. [Rejecting it.) Excuse me, sir ; I must kno\^ 
" your motive tirst. 

" Fer. Hear me, sir ; I am not to learn that you have a 
" secret enemy, who watches, like a l3'nx, each loop-hole 
" through which his damned hypocrisy can creep, to coii- 
" ceal you from jonv father, that he himself may inherit 
'' the wealth that should be yours. 
" Malf. Can there be such a wretch ? 
" Fer. There is — 
" Mrs. M. Heaven forgive him ! 

" Fer. Amen, with all my heart ! — Now, sir, what can 
my motive be '? This paper that I offer you, is an un- 
limited letter of credit on my house ; .draw for what- 
ever sums 3^our necessities may demand ; fly from your 
enemies — in India you may once again be restored to 
your father, and to all those large possessions which 
properly belong to you. {A pici'use.) In this seeming 
act of kindness I shall be no loser ; send me the value 
of my money in produce from the East, and my protit 
will overjDay the obligation. ( Witli icarmtJi,^ and great 
seeming good-natured) 

" Malf. Sir — Your bounty overpowers me — I cannot 
answer you : — Harriet ! 

" Mrs. M. You look to me, Henry, as if you expected 
reluctant compliance to your pleasure, or that I should 
peevishly oppose the prospect of dawning happiness, 
which now auspiciously presents itself But you mistake 
me, Henry ; — my child, my husband, are my country; 
I see no distance in universal space, if you are with me : 
over icy mountains or burning sands, all hardships are 
equally indifl'erent — while I posses your confidence, your 
esteem, your love. 



THE soldier's daughter. 63 

" {Malfort emh-aces her, tries to speak, but cannot.) 
" Fer. It is wisely spoken, madam ; — Here, sir, take 
" this paper ; it is the tribute of honesty to suffering 
" misfortune. 

" {As he offers the paper, John enters, l. h. ; Ferret puts 
" up the paper. 

" John. An old gentleman wishes to speak to Mr. 
*' Ferret. 

" Fer. An old gentleman ? (Aside.) Who can it be ? — 
" I shall be at home presently ; I cannot see any body 
" here — 

" Malf. This apartment is at your service, sir, where 
" you may converse freely with your friend. {Exit .John, 
" L.H.) We will retire. 

" Fer. Sir, I thank you. 

" [Exit, Mr. and Mrs. Malfort, r.h. 

" Fer. {Looking out.) Death, and ill-fortune ! Simon ! 
" the doating babbler ! All must out !— Old Malfort's 
" arrival can no longer be a secret to his son, and my 
" deep-laid scheme is baffled and abortive. {Enter Simon 
" hastily, r.h.) Well ! what's the matter ? 

" Sim. Matter ; — Thank heaven, you are found at last ! 

" Fer. Well — ^why this haste — and what's your eiTand ? 

" Sim. {Ironically.) Merely to comfort you ! — for you 
" have consoled me often. Disgrace holds her heavy 
" weight of shame over your head ; it is suspended by 
" a hair — a breath will snap it, and its fall must crush you ! 

" Fer. Your master is arrived : what then ? 

" Sim. Nay, I know not : — my conscience is clear; what 
" sort of face does yours wear ? 

" (Malfort Senior, without, l.h.) 

" Malf. Sen. This is no time for ceremony, madam ; — 
" Mr. Ferret, I know, is here ; — and I must and will 
" see him ! 

" Enter Malfort, Senior, l.h., {and fixes his eyes severely 
" on Ferret.) 

'* Malf. Sen. Well, sir ; — You are the friendly Mr. 



64 THE soldier's daughter. 

" Ferret ! — the faithful agent of my affairs ; the consoler 
" of my sorrows ; the man to whose unerring honor I 
" freely could entrust my fortune and my hfe ! 

" Fer. 1 have been such a man : — my books will prove 
" the integrity of my dealings ; — the nature of my de- 
" signs have had their motives, which may hereafter be 
" defined. 

" Malf. Sen. Their nature is already known — and defi- 
" nition now unnecessary ! "When first I knew you, you 
" were my brother's clerk, most humbly situated ; without 
" a parent, friend, or benefactor. I saw you were indus- 
" trious ; I thought you honest; I took you by the hand ; 
" I lent you capital ; and recommended you as a junior 
" partner in the house. You then seemed grateful : — 
" wealth flowed in upon you, and when my brother and 
" his friends retired from the bustle of laborious business, 
" the firm was yours, and you were crowned with riches 
" as abundant as they were unexpected — 

" Fer. Granted. 

" Malf- Se7i. How" has your gratitude repaid me ? — 
" Duphcity has marked your conduct ; dark hints and 
" inuendoes swelled each page of your sophisticated 
" letters, wherein you seemed as if your open friend!}' 
" heart recoiled from the recital of my son's misfortunes — 

-" Fer. Nay, — be patient, Mr. Malfort. 

" Malf. Sen. Patient ! — Can I be patient, sir, and even 
" suppose all this ? AVhen I, a father, ignorant of his 
" fate, loaded with riches, without a natural heir that 
" should inherit them, felt the dreadful suspense of be- 
" heving that I had still a hving son, involved, perhaps, 
" in every misery, and could not stretch a parental hand 
" to save him from despair ! 

" Fer. Hear me, Mr. Malfort ! 

" Ma/f Sen. No, sir ; an attempt at palliation would 
" but increase the enormity of your conduct ! After 
" much toil and labor, I have at length discovered that 
" my son yet lives — stripped of his all by unavoidable 
" calamity : — All this you knew, it seems : and yet, with 
" the treacherous affectation of friendship, cautiously con- 
" cealed the place of his retreat from a fond father's 
" inquiring eye ; while, with half smothered hints you 
" blackened over his conduct, and made me almost curse 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 65, 

" the hour that once I thought most happy, when boun- 
" teous nature blest me with a son ! 

" Fer. Well, sir, — I must now endure your anger — 
" your reproaches ; milder moments will occur. 

" Malf. Sen. Here we shall close; — and I have done 
" with you for ever. I am content : — I have seen you ; 
" told you my mind ; and I now abandon you to your re- 
" flections. It was a barbarous friendship, sir, that probed 
" the mind's worst wound, and yet withheld the healing 
" balm that ministers relief. \_Exit, l.h. 

Fer. The hour of peril is at hand ! 

" Re-enter Mr. and Mrs. Malfort, r. h. 

" Malf. {Observing Simon.) New wonders crowd upon 
"my imagination! Harriet, come hither! — Look upon 
" that old man. If my memory does not fail me, he ^has 
" often borne me in his arms. 

" 'Re-enter Malfort, Sen. 

" Malf. Sen. "With regret, sir, I demand one act of 
" justice at your hands — 

" Malf. Heavenly powers ! 
" {Sinks into a chair. — Mrs. Malfort takes his hand An 
" hers ; and throiving her arm round his neck, sta^ids 
" a fixed spectator of %vhat is passing in the front of 
" the stage.) 

" Malf. Sen. I entreat — I supplicate you not to add to 
" the suspense I have already endured ; but, as I am well 
" informed you are acquainted with every circumstance of 
" my son's distressful state, I beseech you give me the clue 
" to his retreat — give me the means to find, to cherish, and 
" to relieve him ! You will not, then indulge me ? 

" Fer. {Coolly.) I would conceal from you the cause of 
" sorrow and regret, till opportunity was ripe, and discovery 
" no longer dangerous ; — besides, I have other reasons for 
" my silence, which you may know hereafter. [Exit, l. h. 

" Malf. Sen. Which I must know hereafter ! — IJngrate- 
" ful viper ! {Walking about in great agitation.) I know 
" not how to proceed.;— I will not sleep until I have found 
" my boy ! Simon, let the carriage be ready. 



66 



THE S0L"DIEK.'S DAUGHTER. 



Sim,. It shall, sir 



[Exit Simon, l.h. 



" Malfort, Jun. comes forward. 

" Malf. Sir— 

" Malf. Sen. Your pleasure, sir ? 

" Malf Have you forgot me ? — Has misery erased my 
" name even from the book of nature ? 

" Malf. Sen. Merciful heaven ! Providence at length 
has guided my wearied mind, my anxious heart to that 
blest spot M'here I embrace my son. ( They rush into 
each otlters arms.) 

" Malf. The storm is past ! My long-lost father ! — my 
scattered senses, denying the conviction of sight and 
feeling, can scarcely credit that I hold him in these 
trembling arms. 

". Malf. Se7i. My son ! my son ! But where is the 
gentle partner of your cares ? She whose patients uf- 
fering — 

" Malf {Taking Mrs. Malfort by the hand.) Here, my 
father — To this blest saint I owe my life, and all the fu- 
ture comforts that await it. Despair had seized me, and 
the conflict must have ended — had not heaven inspired 
that virtuous tongue with arguments of celestial oratory, 
and snatch'd me from the crime of self-destruction ! 
" Mrs. M. The joyful feeUngs of my heart — but little 
used to such sensations — at present overpower and pre- 
vent the utterance of what my mind would dictate to 
the father of my husband :^aflection, duty, and respect, 
bind me his and yours for ever. 

" Malf. Sen. {Embracing her.) Then live with him for 
ever, in this heart ! The wife, whose virtuous ardour 
affliction could not damp, nor penury diminish, adds 
lustre to that sex from whose blest converse we derive 
our most substantial sum of earthly happiness ! But- 
come, my children, let us retire, and calmly canvass 
each strange event, each circumstance which now ap- 
pears involved in mj'^stery, that have so long obscured us 
from each others knowledge : — the frowns of angry for- 
tune shall no more assail you j and oh ! may all your 
future days, be days of harmony ajid love ! 

" [Exeunt, l.h. 



THE soldier's daughtek. 67 

. SCENE II.— The Governor's House. 
Enter the Governor and Timothy, r.h. 

Gov. Pooh ! pooh ! — I can't believe it ; I vs'on't believe 
it, Timothy ! Ferret is an odd fellow — coarse, but honest; 
old English oak — a rough bark, but a sound heart ! 

Tim. Yes, rough as a hedge-hog ; but he can be as 
smooth as a lizard, when it -answers his purpose. 

Gov. Why, what the devil is the matter with the grum- 
bling mongrel ? — Get about jonv business, you night- 
mare ! — you death watch ! — ^you wet-blanket ! — you flap- 
wdnged raven ! — 

Tim. I am gone ! — I'll croak no more. ( Going, returns.) 
Mr. Ferret is an honest man — and you'll find him out ! — 

Gov. I have found him out ! 

Tim. For an honest man ? 

Gov. Puppy ! 

Tim. When he is found out for an honest man, I hope 
I shall be considered as the greatest rogue in the.universe. 

Gov. Thou art the most impudent rogue that ever 
wagged a saucy tongue ! — a barking whelp, that Je'ts 
nothing pass without a snarl ! 

Tim. Well : I must snarl ! — I am allow 'd to do nothing 
else : I wish I might bite. 

Gov. His love for Frank makes him, perhaps, a little 
too anxious for the boy's prosperity. He would not wish 
to see him proved a villain or a seducer. 

Tim. He would. 

Gov. It's a lie, Timothy ! — he would rather see him 
dead than dishonored. 
__ Tim. He does not care which. 
. Gov. Scoundrel ! — hey ? — what ? 

Tim. Order in your bow string, Mr. Governor, and 
have me strangled at once — for it will out — 

Gov. What ? — speak, you dog, or my anxiety will choak 
me ! — 

Tim. I will : heaven's agent on this side the moon is 
your nephew ! 

Gov. Well. 

Tim. Belzebub's own factor upon earth is old Ferret ! 



68 THE soldier's daughter. 

Gov. Hey !— Well ! 

Tim. They can't agree, of course. 

Gov. Well ! 

Tim. Is not every mouth open'd with your nephew's 
praise ? 

Gov. TJmph !■ — Yes. 

Tim. Don't the generous delight in him ? 

Gov. Aye. 

Tim. The rich admire him ? 

Gov. They do. 

Tim. The benevolent respect — 

Gov. And the poor adore him ! — 'Tis true : — my eyes 
are opening. 

Tim. Whose tongue defamed his good actions, and 
slandered his very thoughts ? 

Gov. Umph !— Old Ferret's ! 

Tim. Who accused him of seduction ? 

Gov. Old Ferret ! — and said he had an evil design upon 
an innocent young widow ! 

Tiin. And then call'd her a vixen ? 

Gov. IJerret ! villainous, vindictive, hypocritical Ferret! 

Tim. And all for what ?— Shall I tell you, sir ? 
^ Gov. Out with it. 

Tim. That you might disinherit your nephew — and 
mJike him heir to your wealth ! Are you awake, sir ? 

Gov. Yes, Timothy, wide awake ! I see his villainy, 
and will crush all his hopes — the dry-skinn'd hypocrite ! 

Thn. He has been as busy in other families, sir ; you 
will hear from Mr. Malfort some of Mr. Ferret's pleasant 
manoeuvres ! 

Gov. Ay — Malfort's arrived, I hear. Has he found his 
son? 

Tim. Yes, sir ; he's caught ! 

Gov. Ferret ! Treachery ! Malfort was his best friend, 
and made a man of him. 

Enter James, l. h. 

Jam. Mr. Malfort, and his son and daughter, are in the 
anti-chamber. 

Gov. I'll come to them directly. {Exit James, l.h.) I 
shall be happy to congratulate my worthy old friend on 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 69 

the recovery of his son ; and he shall congratulate me, 
too — for, though I always said Frank had a heart, it never 
appear'd till now so pure and so unspotted. If Jack 
Woodley's daughter will bless him with her hand, I will 
pour abundance on them, and the sight of their first boy 
will make the Governor the merriest, happiest old bachelor 
in the United Kingdom. [JExit, l.h. 

Tim. Then I shall be merry, too : — " Like master, like 
man." IJSxit, l.h. 



SCENE ni. — Another Apartment at the Governor''s. 

Enter Erank Heartall, "Widow, and Charles, l. h. 

Frank H. This way, madam : my uncle and his friends 
■will join us presently : — Old Ferret is sent for ; and all 
parties will be assembled, to witness either my triumph or 
disgrace. . 

Cha. Courage, Frank ! — am not I your ally ? — and 
here is my sister, as a corps de resei've ! 

Frank H. If she condescends to take the field, the day 
is our own, my boy ! {They retire up.) 

Enter the Governor, Malfort, Senior., and Mr. and 
Mrs. Malfort, r. h. 

MaJf. Sen. Every circumstance, my worthy friend, con- 
vinces me of his artful management. I was at a loss to 
guess at the nature of his designs, but now 'tis plain and 
palpable, — he wished to be my heir ! he panted for my 
wealth ; and cared not if my son, and all that was most 
dear to him, had perished in wretched obscurit3^ 

Gov. The spider — he had entangled my poor nephew in 
his snare ; but my Timothy came with a friendly brush, 
and swept the cobweb down. 

iVid. {Coming forivard.) Governor! we have entered 
your fort without demanding the kej^s of the garrison ;-^ 
this gentleman was our convoy. {Pointing to Heartall.) 



70 THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 

Gov. What, my lively widow ! Have you caught the 
military phrase — and use it, too, to gratify the feelings of 
the old Governor ? 

Wid. It is the language of the daj^, sir : — the noble en- 
thusiasm that pervades all ranks and sexes ! — "When the 
daughters of Britain feel the military ardour, and give the 
word " To arms !" let her enemies beware — for then, in- 
deed, her sons are irresistible ! This is the universal 
phrase of English women, and should come with double 
force fi'om the lips of a soldier's daughter ! 

Gov. Bravo ! my charming, lively widow ! Honest 
Jack Woodley's daughter ! 

Wid. And his son, too, at your service. {Introducing 
Charles.) 

Gov. [Taking his hand.) Young gentleman, I rejoice to 
see you ; receive a cordial welcome from your father's 
friend. 

Cha. I shall be happy, sir, to prove myself deserving of 
your kindness. 

Wid. What ! my friends ! Mr. and Mrs. Malfort, too ! 
I congratulate myself upon this happy assembly. 

Mrs. M. Your happy, grateful friends ! 

Enter Timothy, l.h. 

TiiJi. {To the Governor.) He is come; shall I admit 
Mm ? Satan's below ! 

Gov. The devil he is ! Shew him in ! Draw up his 
mittimus, and I'll send him in a pass-cart to his own do- 
minions ! 

Tim. I am impatient till it is signed. 

\^Exit Timothy, l.h. 

Enter Ferret, l.h, 

^er. Well, ladies and gentlemen ; I am brought hither, 
as I understand, for the i)urposes of accusation and de- 
fence :— Produce 3'our charges ; — of what am 1 accused ? 

Frank H. Ask your own conscience. 

Fer. That cannot answer to your satisfaction. I have 
wound it to my purpose, and its dictates I have already 
obeyed. 



THE soldier's DAUGHTER. 71 

Fr-ank H. Have you not basely injured me ? traduced 
my name, blackened my fairest intentions, perverted my 
very thoughts, and, by an. anonymous and villainous as- 
sertion, put even my life in danger ? 

Fer. Go on : I am come to hear you. 

Malf. Sen. And to redresq, I hope, if yet 'tis in your 
power.— The deepest, deadliest sin, is black ingratitude ! 
My son you would for ever hajve concealed from my know- 
ledge ; and, in the very momdnt when you had discovered 
I had found some clue to his retreat, like an arch fiend, 
you come with offers of pretended bounty t — ^you would 
for ever have banished him t'o a distant clime, and robbed 
an anxious parent of his Ust fond hope — his remaining 
solace, the comfort of his declining age^ — ^his only son ! 

Gov. To me, there is no excuse, in nature, for his enor- 
mous, over-heap'd measure of hypocrisy ! 

Fer. There is. 

Gov. Name it, viper ! 

Fer. Aviirice ! — the blackest fiend of hell ! I plead no 
other. Were there no such vice, I should have been an 
honest man. Could the covetous man but feel, as I now 
do, he would scatter his ill-gotten wealth among the friend- 
less poor ; and, shunning the society of those his avarice 
had wrong'd, fly to some distant spot, and end his solitary 
days in repentance and remorse. To such contrition have 
-I doomed myself-^ — Heaven is my witness, I could not in- 
jure you, nor any of you, had not avarice harden'd my 
heart, and rendered it callous to the workings of humanity. 
' Tis a vice too common, and more destructive in society 
than swords or poison. — What is the gamester's stimulus ? 
What is the miser's god ? — Avarice ! What urges the 
guilty wretch to betray his friend ? The mock patriot 
his country ? — Avaiice ! invincible, destructive avarice ! 

Malf. Sen. Banish th€s guilty passion — retire into the 
shade of solitude, where penitence may once more restore 
you to yourself 

' Fer. I never felt, till now, the black perdition of the 
crime — ^but you are fellow-creatures, and may pity what 
you can't forgive. I came prepared to meet this trial, this 
disgrace — .and to make atonement by the only act of jus- 
tice in my power : — Young man ; ( To Charles, who crosses 
to L.H.) You are a soldier, not over-burden'd with the gifts 



72 THE SOLDllftl's DAUGHTER. 

of fortune : — your father was my friend ; your sister's 
husband was my patron, and assisted, with his purse, my 
most prosperous speculations ;-r-receive these papers — the 
memorandums, previously prepared for you, of what shall 
legally be ratitied. — And when you, hereafter, count your 
large possessions over, honor and plain honesty will instruct 
you how to act, — if you can remember the last sharp 
regretful words of him that tells you — you are a bad man's 
heir ! [Exit, l.h. 

{Ckarhs retires up, and examines the papers.) 

Frank H. Charles, what are those papers ? An inven- 
tory of his villainies, or a renunciation of his errors ? 

Cha. Neither, Frank ; — An extract from his will, and a 
memorandum of a deed of gift — by which I am to possess 
an ample annuity during his life, and the residue of his 
property after his demise. 

Wid. Astonishing ! 

Cha. 'Tis true, upon my honor ! {F. Heartall looks over 
the papers.) 

Wid. This generous act should cancel many of his ill 
deeds — let us all endeavour to pity and forgive him : — 
What say you, Governor, should we bear maUce ? 

Gov. No, my charming widow : — I am exactly of your 
opinion. I cannot catch the little twinkling corner of 
that arch eye, and differ from you, you little lively toad ! 
Come, Frank, he must be forgiven. 

Frank H. Before I finally close with your proposal, 
confirm my sentence — guilty, or not guilty ? 

Wid. Come, Governor, sum up the evidence ! 

Gov. I will, my little Alfred ! — my little petticoat legis- 
lator — culprit, stand forth ! 

Frank H. Mercy ! uncle, mercy ! 

Gov. You are Francis Heartall, I think-^nephew, as I 
have heard, to a foolish old Governor of that name ; and I 
prophecy, heir to all his wealth : — he has'heard of your 
tricks, and witnessed your enormities ; in which- he now 
begins to perceive there was neither vice nor villainy.^ — 
You are, therefore, free upon that charge ! But for- an 
unthinking spendthrift, who could squander the over- 
flowings of his purse in purposes of old- fashioned benevo- 
lence—what punishment can be adequate to the enormity 
of such a crime ? — 



THE SOLDIER S DAUGHTER. / b 

Frank H. Mercy, again, uncle ! — mercy ! 

Gov. I therefore doom you to imprisonment for life — 
in those dear arms ! {Taking the Widoio's hand.) 

Wid. No ! — I can't surrender. — 

Cha. {Retorting.) But you'll capitulate upon honorable 
terms ! — Hey, sister ? 

Wid. What, brother soldier, do you fall in to bring up 
the rear ? — Well ! — If it must be so, it must : — Heartall, 
there's my hand ! A mad and cheerful heart accompanies 
it — indulge it in its little whims ; do not censure too freely 
its little caprices — though it may sometimes overflow at 
the distresses of the wretched, or gently melt at sorrows 
not its own — ^yet there stiU is room for friendship, confi- 
dence, and love. 

Gov, The powers of heaven shower their blessings on you. 

Wid. Thanks, generous Governor. {To the characters^ 
and in a military accent.) Attention ! — ^fall back ! {They 
retire one pace back, she comes forivard.) In perilous times 
it may not be improper to request the countersign — Say, 
is it " Victory," or " Death ?" — your hands decide it. {In 
a military tone.) "Rear rank, take close order!" {The 
characters advance.) — {To them) You have received a 
voluntary contribution from a British pubhc — let us en- 
deavour to deserve it ; and by our future efforts prove 
our gratitude to each loyal hand and heart that yields its 
generous protection to — 

« A SOLDIEE'S DAUGHTER !" 



DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS. 



WID. 




CURTAIN. 



EPILOGUE. 

(written by the author or the comedy.) 
Spoken by Mrs. Jordan. 

Before the fatal knot is fairly tied ; 
Before I change the Widow for the Bride ; 
Once more at this tribunal I appear, 
Nor doubt your favor to a Volunteer. 
Such am I now — though not by martial laws, 
J vcf-LUNTEER it — in an Author's cause ; 
This, his first bantling, could your candour spare, 
And take his offspring to your fost'ring care — 
Nurtur'd by 7/ou the tendril slip may root, 
And fairer blossoms from its branches shoot. 

Like puppies born are all dramatic brats, — 
For nine long clays they are as blind as bats ; 
Poor crawling creatures, sons of care and night : 
Then let this live till it can see the light ; 
And should you foster it to twenty-one, 

Why then Oh, no, • — ■ 

Dramatic bantlings, never go alone ; 

Unlike mankind, if once the mirse forsake 'em. 

They die by inches — and the dogs won't take 'era. 

Say is the day our own — ^how goes my cause ? 

You ne'ed not speak — I'll judge by your applause. 

'Tis well — this approbation's cheering ; — 

I claim some merit from my Volutiteering ; — 

Not like the hardy sons of Albion's soil, 

Disdaining peril, and severest toil ; 

A mass of subjects in one loyal band, 

To drive the spoiler from their native land ; 

And future tyrants teach that host to fear, 

Which boasts the name of British Volu?iteer ! 

Ladies — I one proposal fain would make, 
And trust you'll hear it for your country's sake, — 



EPILOGUE. 75 

While glory animates each manly nerve, 

Should British Women from the contest swerve ? 

No! 

"We'll form a female army — of reserve ! 

And class them thus — Old Maids are Pioneers ; 

Widows, Sharp-shooters — Wives are Fusileers / 

Maids are Battalion — that's — all under twenty^ — 

And as for Light Troops — we have those in plenty ! 

Vixens the trumpet blow — Scolds beat the drum — 

When thus prepar'd — what enemy dare come ? 

Those eyes that even Britons could enslave, 

Will serve to hght poor Frenchmen to their grave ; 

So shall the Artillery of British charms 

Kepel invaders without force of arms ! 

If this succeeds — as I the scheme have plann'd, 
I expect, at least, the honor of command ; 
I have — an Aid-de- Camp — behind the scene, 
Who all this winter in the Camp has been ; 
Inur'd to service in the tented field. 
She can, with ease, the pond'rous musket wield ! 
The m.artial skill she shall impart to you, 
Which on this spot so oft has had review : — 
Then, tremble France ! — since British Women can 
A firelock handle — as they do a fan I 

Now, Brother Soldiers — dare I sisters join ? 
If you, this night, your efibrts should combine, 
To save our corps from anxious hope and fear, ^ 

And send out — Mercy, as a Volunteee, ! 
To whose white banner, should the critics flock, 
Our rallying numbers might sustain the shock. 
The sword shall drop — then cease impending slaughter, 
If Mercy's shield protects the — Soldier^ s Daughter I 



r^— 



THE MINOR DRAMA. 

f With the view of giving completeiiees tu their design of 8iii)plying 
the public with ail the best dramatic works tliat keep possession of 
the Stage, the publishers of the "Modern Standai-d Drama " have 
commenced the "MINOR DRAMA," in which series will be em- 
braced all those Minor Stock I'ieces, Farces, Vaudevilles, and Burleltas, 
which could not properly be classed under the former title. 

The " Mimjr Drama" will be printed uniform with tlie " Modern 
Standard Drama," and every number will be enibtllished with a 
spirited Kugraviug, illustrative of some prominent scene. All the old 
stock after-pieces^ together with all new ones of decided merit, will 
be embraced in this subsidiary series, and issued from the press in 
rapid succession The following have been already published: 



VOL. I. 

1. The Irish Attorney, 

2. Boots at the Swan. 

3. How to Pay the Rent. 

4. The Loan of a Lover. 

5. The Dead Shot. ^ 

6. His Last Legs. 

7. The Invisible Prince. 

8. The Golden Farmer. 

With a Portrait and Memoir of 
MR. JOHN SEFTON.* 

VOL. II. 

9. The Pride of the Market. 

10. Used Up. 

11. The Irish Tutor. 

12. The Barrack Room. 

13. Luke the Labourer. 

14. Beauty and the Beast. 

15. St. Patrick's Eve. 

16. Captain of the Watch. 
With a Portrait and Memoir of 

MISS C. WEMYSS. 

VOL. Ill, 

17. The Secret. 

18. White Horse of the Peppers. 

19. The Jacobite. 

20. The Bottle. 

21. Box and Cox. 

22. Ba uboozliiig. 

23. W (low's Victim. 

24. R bert Mauaire. 



VOL. IV. ■> 

2.5. Secret Service. 

26. The Omnibus. 

27. The Iritih Lion. 

28. The Maid of Croissey. 

29. The Old Guard. 

30. Raising the Wind. 

31. Slasher and Ci'asher. 

32. Naval Engagements. 
With a Portrait and Memoir of 

MISS ROSE TELBIN. 

r. VOL, VI. 

33. Cocknies in California. 

34. Who Speaks First. 

35. Bombastes Furioso. 

36. Macbeth Travestie. 

37. The Irish Ambassador. 

38. Delicate Ground 

39. The Weathercock 

40. All that Glitters is not Gold. 

VOL. VI. 

41. Grimshaw. Bagshaw, and 
Bradshaw. 

42. Rough Diamond, 

43. Bloomer Costume. 

44. Two Bonnycastles. 

45. Born to Good Luck, 
I 46. Kiss in the Dark. 
I 47. 'Twould Puzzle a Conjuror 
! 48. Kill or Cure. 
I 49. Box and Cox Married and Settled 



With a Portrait and Memoir of I 
MR. F. S. CHAMFB.au. ' 

. ^'"^'c^i 12 1-2 Cevts each.— Bound Volumes, Sl.OO. 
_ ij:^ On a,xennittance of One Dollar, free of po.sta^'e Ten cop- 
ies of any of the Phiys will be sent by mail. ' 

S. FRENCH, 151 Nassdu-st., Corner of Spruce. 



=^ 



MODERN STA] 

Prj^.e 12 1-2 Cents each 



1. Ion. 

2. F:xznn. 

3 TJfe Lady of Lyons. 
<. mchelieii. 
S./Tlie Wife. 
6. The Hoiiev Moon. 

i. The School for Scan- 
Hal. 

8. Money. 

fVith a Pin-trait and 
Mtmmr uf Mre. A. C. 
UOfVATT. 

VOL. n. 

9. The Stranper. 

10. (JraiKlfnilier White- 

' beail. 

n. Richiir.l III 

12. Love's S.icrifice. 

13. The Guiijnster. 

14. A Cure for llie Ifeart- 

ache. 

15. The Hunchback. 

16. Don Cic.-.!ir De Bazon. 
Wi'tA a Portrait find- Me- 
moir oj Mr. CHARLES 
KEAN. 

VOL. III. 

i7. The Poor Gentleuaan. 

18. Hftmlot. 

19. CharleulL 

20. Venice Preserved. 

21. Pizarro. 

22. The Love-Chase. 

23. Othello. 

24. Lend Me Five Shil- 
Hngs. 

With a Portrait and 
Memoir gf Mr. fr. E. 
BURTON. 

VOL. IV. 

2.5. VIrginius. 

26. The King of the Cora- 

inon*. 

27. London Assurance. 

28. The Rent-Day. 

29. Two Gentlenien of 

Verona. 

30. The Jeuloiis Wife. 

31. The IllvaU. 
.12. Perfoctlon. 

M^ilh a Portrait and 
Memoir of Mr. J. H. 
li'tCKF.TT. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

mil mil 11 mil nil 



014 455 278 7 



33. A New Way t« Pay 

Old Debts. 

34. Look Before You Leap. 

35. King John. 

35. The Nervous Man. 

37. Damon hihI Pvthins. 

38. The Claiulestiiie Mar- 

riajro. 

39. William TelJAp 

40. The Day /fter the 

Wedding. ^ 
With a Portrait and 
Memoir of O COLMAJV 
the Elder. 

VOL VL 

41. Speed the Plough. 

42. Romeo and Julieu 

43. Feuilal Times. 

44. Charles '.he Twelfth. 

45. The Bridal. 

46. TheFollie-sofaNight. 

47. The Iron Chest. 

48. Faint Heart Nevor 

Won Fair Lady. 
fVilh a Portrait and Me- 
moir of. Sir E. B UL WER 
n^YTTON. 

VOL. VII. 

49. Road to Ruin. 

50. Macbeth. 

51. Teuiuer. 

52. Evadne. 

53. Bertram. 

54. The Duenna. 

55 Much Ado AboutNoth- 
ing. 

56. Tlie Critic. 

fFilA a Portrait and 
Memoir of R. B. SHERI- 
DAN. 

VOL. vin. 

57. The Apostate. 
53. Twelfth Night. 

59. Brutus. 

60. Simpson & Oo. 

61. Merchant of Venice. 
6-2. Olil Heads avid Young 

Hearts. 

63. Mountaineers. 

64. Three Weeks After 
Manage. 

With a Portrait nnd 
Memoir of Mr. GkO. H. 
BARRETT. 



65. Lore. 

66. As You Like It.' 

67. The Elder Braiher. 

68. Werner. 

69. Gisippus. 

70. Town and Cotintry 

71. King Lear. 

72. Blue Devils. 

With a Portrait and 
Memoir of Mrt. SUA IV. 

VOL. X. 

73. Henry VIH. 

74. Alarried and Single. 

75. Henry IV. 

76. Paul Pry. 

77. Guy Alaniiering. 

78. Sweethearts & Wives. 

79. Tire Serious Family. 

80. She Stoops to Cob 

quer. 
Wiih a Portrait and 
Memoir of Misa OH A It- 
LOTTE CUSHMAN. 



81. Julius Caesar. 

82. Vicar of WaJlofield. 

83. Leap Year. 

84. TheCatspaw. 

85. The Passing Cloud 

86. The Drunkard. 

87. Rob Roy. 

88. George Barnwell. 

With a Portrait and 
Memoir of Mr». JOHJi 
SEJPTOuV. 

VOL. ZII. 

a9 Ingomar. 

90. SIcetches in India. 

91. The Two Friends. " 
92 Jane Snore. 

93. Corsican Brothers. 

94. Mind your own DusV 
ness. 

95. Writingon the Wall ! 



|l3="0n a remittance of One Dollar, free of postage, Ten copios 
of any of the play.s will be sent hv mail. 

. S. FREXCII, 1.51 Nassau-st., Corner of Sprvce. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




Hollinger Corp. 



